Remember The Taste
by SyrenHug
Summary: It wasn't that eating became easier. It was always going to be hard. Just like living and breathing were always going to be hard. But there was constantly someone there with him, telling him that he was important enough to be full. That he was worth every bite of food or breath he took. AU. Anorexia. Bulimia. OT6. Complete.
1. Apples

This a fic that I'm working on for my enjoyment and it means so very much to me. Please understand that when your reading and judging and reviewing. It's not perfect but I would be disappointed if it was. So help me keep it flawed. I intend to keep the pace fast and slow if that makes any sense. I'll update when I feel as if I should, this will not be rushed. It'll be written in a drabble-y kind of way sometimes but I like it better this way.

There are pairings, or there will be, but I'm not going to announce them yet. You'll figure them out soon.

Warnings: Anorexia, Bulimia, language. Slash/Yaoi. If you want to classify that as something to be warned against. Possible forms of self harm. Character death but not major. OOCness but that was to be expected.

I hope you stick around for the ride.

-Sy

* * *

"Hell is wanting to be somewhere different from where you are. Being one place and wanting to be somewhere else . . . . Wanting life to be different from what it is. That's also called leaving without leaving. Dying before you die. It's as if there is a part of you that so rails against being shattered by love that you shatter yourself first."

- Geneen Roth

* * *

The first time Ryoma threw up he was twelve.

He remembered crouching in front of the toilet, looking at the water swirling inside and without realizing why his hand fluttered up, stretching his lips. He could hear his father's voice commanding him to keep his body in the perfect condition for tennis. And he could hear his scolding's when he ate something he _wanted _to eat like a muffin or a piece of cake. _"Recruiters aren't going to want a player with flab, no matter how well you play." _They're not going to want you, no matter what you do. Ryoma shivered.

He became hypnotized by the bright, florescent lights in the bathroom. The hard tile of the floor. And when he registered the finger in the back of throat, the leaning of his head in the toilet, it was already too late to change his mind. The vomit almost choked him and just in time he remembered to move his finger. He could smell the breakfast his mother had furtively slipped him that morning and he reached to the side and flushed his secrets. Was this how it felt? To be empty? It was too easy. Was it always so easy?

He stared at the water for a long time.

* * *

His mother died when he was fourteen.

There was a ghost that sat in the chair at the table and lived in spaces in his heart. There was a spirit that existed in pictures and blew in with the wind. But there was no one to serve him Japanese style breakfast or ruffle his hair. There was no one to remind him what laughing sounded like or listen to him play piano when his father wasn't home. There was no to look at him like he existed for more than a sport that he didn't even want to play. She was gone and so was his life raft.

* * *

_Fifteen_

"Ryoma." He ignored his boyfriend and continued running. He had a pounding migraine and the heat wasn't helping any but he was going to push through it. His father was here and he was expecting more from him then the rest of the guy's. Just because he had the overwhelming urge to cut his head off with a blunt knife did not give him a fucking excuse. He felt a hand creep up his shoulder but he shook it off, shooting a well placed glare to blonde beside him.

"Watch where you're putting your hands, Smith. My father's here."

Kevin was looking at him, the way he always did when his dad came to watch him practice, like he'd never seen anything sadder in his life. Whatever. He wasn't a kicked puppy. He ran faster, heading toward his fiftieth lap. "Ryoma."

"Was there something you wanted or are you just going to keep saying my name ominously?"

His boyfriend didn't even flinch. They'd been together too long for his hissing to bother him much. "You're not feeling well."

Ryoma could feel himself softening a bit because Kevin was an annoying idiot but he was just worried and he didn't have anyone else to do that since his mother had died. "No."

"You shouldn't be here."

Yeah, because that made him feel all warm in fuzzy inside. It was the sort of comment that sent heat rushing into his veins and made his fingers twitch in an angry rhythm. He screwed his face up into a scowl good enough to make his father proud.

"I appreciate your stupid concern. But you can take it and shove it up your ass. You know, where you put everything else."

He didn't stick around to watch the hurt. Kevin drew back as he sped up, making eye contact with light brown eyes by the fence. There were bodies milling around the entire court, endlessly active. He wanted to be a part of the energy, the chattering, and the laughter. But he was tired. As always.

He won the match in fifteen minutes. He didn't even notice who he was playing. It was a blur of points and serves, the sound of rackets hitting balls. Ryoma was ruthless. His opponent was great but he was perfect. There could be nothing less. When the game was over he realized who he'd been playing. Kevin. He wasn't looking at him but he could see the ropy muscles and short stature sitting on the bench. There were people surrounding him with worried expressions. Ryoma wanted ask if he was alright but-

"Ryoma?"

He straightened, tension filling him up until he was close enough to over flowing. And his father hadn't even really started a conversation yet.

"Yes?"

He was an intimidating figure, his father, with piercing eyes and a stern jaw. Everything about him was firm. Ryoma couldn't remember the last time he'd seen him smile or laugh. That had been saved for his mother. There was a hand on a shoulder but it was different then Kevin's touch. More to assert then comfort. He waited for it.

"You could have done better. "

* * *

_Sixteen_

Ryoma didn't do it often. Only on the really bad days when he was feeling like too much. Like he needed to be lighter or he'd blow away. Another balloon in a sky of endless helium filled rubber. He and bathrooms had become good friends. Not the best, the kind of friends you go to for trivial things but never really have a conversation with. He could stop if he wanted to because it wasn't exactly his forte, throwing up. He liked schedules better.

No breakfast or lunch everyday until Friday. Then he could eat lunch and dinner. But on the weekend no dinner or lunch. Just breakfast. It was automatic after almost five years and he didn't even know when he'd started it. There were restrictions, rules, and then there were the bad weeks. The one's where he was harsh and angry and couldn't see the point of breathing another breath.

There was a game he liked to call, _let's see how long Ryoma can go without eating. _The record was three days. But then Kevin had noticed how pale he'd gotten and shoved a dessert into his mouth. He could taste the fat as he chewed and when his boyfriend had tried to feed him another piece he turned away.

"But it's your favorite kind. You used to fight me for it."

Having a favorite food was a joke. You ate it and then what? It took forever to digest and probably put a set back to staying the weight you wanted to be. Pointless. Pleasure was a butterfly. It didn't stay for long.

* * *

Kevin broke up with him during junior year of high school on a swing set in the rain.

There were apologies and whispered words of affections during the creaking of the swing and the force of the wind. Kevin kept saying something, repeating it like a mantra but Ryoma didn't understand what the words meant or why they really mattered in the end. He stared ahead, watching a little boy laugh with another boy on the sidewalk. He couldn't remember what it was like to be that young or that happy or that free.

Then some words finally filtered through his drain of a mind. "I think you need to find someone who'll help you, Ryoma."

He opened his mouth. Closed it, then forced it through. "There's no one. It's too late for me, Kev."

"You're just lost. Some people are like that. That's who they are," The words were soft and so were his baby blues. Then his voice tightened. "But no one can ever help you if you don't want them to. Don't fuck up the rest of your life or you'll end up like your father."

"But one day, you're going to find someone who'll let you wander off, let you get lost. And then they'll find you. Every time."

Ryoma closed his eyes when he felt a whisper of a kiss on his forehead. And when he opened them again there was the sound of an empty swing wavering and it was debatable whether the water dripping down his cheeks was rain.

* * *

Right at the height of his tennis career, at age eighteen, his father died of a brain aneurysm on his way home.

The funeral was held on a sunny day that completely contradicted the feeling of thunder that boomed in his chest. His thoughts were in a frenzy. All he could hear was the last thing his father had said before he'd left the house for the day.

"Ryoma?"

He wondered why people were always using his name like he didn't know it himself.

He turned around, blinking into the reality of the retreating figures and the spot where they'd buried the only person he had left. No, that wasn't true. He had Ryoga. The big brother he'd never had. The tall form standing in front of him wearing a smile that wasn't painted or stitched on, but naturally curved. Ryoma tried to mimic it but his jaw didn't twist that way and it hurt to try new things when you didn't know of it was possible to do them right or not.

Ryoga shifted on the balls of his feet. His hair was shaggy, eyes bright, alive. There was a five-year age difference between them but his brother looked younger than he did. At least he thought he did. Ryoma hadn't glanced in a mirror in ages. "Are you alright? Wait, no, that's a stupid question. Of course you're not alright."

"I'm fine." He gritted. He hated when people tried made assumptions on his feelings.

"You're too thin."

And he hadn't even had to work for it. The observation left him flying a bit closer to the sky as much as it curled its way into his stomach like a snake. He reached up to wrap a hand around his tie. He wondered how tightly he'd have to pull before he choked. He flinched when a hand grabbed his and unwound it from its grip. Ryoga was summer's day warm while everything in him was frosting over like snow.

"Come stay with me in Japan." Ryoga said suddenly. A negative two letter word danced on his tongue but he stopped when his brother regarded him with eyes almost the same shade as his own. It was like looking in a mirror but seeing someone else's reflection. "I want you there. I have an annoying boyfriend who drives me insane but I keep him around for his adorable daughter. That doesn't bother you, does it? I mean, if it does I underst-"

"You want me there?"

He repeated it to himself over and over so he could keep the words somewhere and remember what they tasted like. _Lemons,_ he decided. Not the sour taste, but the childishness of wrapping them around your teeth and creating a smile.

"Of course." Ryoga affirmed. He didn't seem ashamed of the sentiment at all.

But Ryoma had to ask because it was always the most important thing, "What about tennis?"

"A real passion for something doesn't go away no matter where you are."

There was a silence and he realized that they were still standing there, by the one thing that had connected them and torn them apart in the first place. There were things growing over his father, he thought. Is that what death was? The living going on over your head while you rested in a coffin under the ground? Somehow he wanted to be more than that.

"Okay."


	2. Bread and Butter

So much Yukimura and Fuji and Eiji and sahgdjkgfrkh. Gosh, Ryoma how are you not marveling at their perfection? Okay, sorry, I'm done.

Please do me the honor of not pointing out mistakes, I know they're there and I do catch them. Promise.

One thing, I don't make it a thing to describe things, I perfer to leave most things to the imagination but the studio is less of an a official studio and more of a casual music room. Ryoma's room is very important and a lot of...Interesting things happen in there. Yeah.

Honestly, this chapter is just a led into the real stuff. I mean obviously this is important but it's more about meeting Seigaku and Oishi then anything. But, whatever, I hope you enjoy it and if you don't then _mada mada dane. _Now I'm off to co-parent.

Warnings: Anorexia, Bulimia, language. Slash/Yaoi. Bleh.

* * *

"I will not eat cakes or cookies or food. I will be thin, thin, pure. I will be pure and empty. Weight dropping off. Ninety-nine... ninety-five... ninety-two... ninety. Just one more to eighty-nine. Where does it go? Where in the universe does it go?"

-Francesca Lia Block

* * *

He met Kevin five months after his mother's funeral at tennis practice. It was a given. He'd signed up for tennis first thing because he knew that if he didn't his father would have been disappointed and his father's disappointment tasted like an overdose of salt on fries. It was overwhelming. He practiced a new serve on the wall, cringing when it rebounded on his knee.

"Ouch," A voice said behind him and spun around. He took survey of the fair skinned boy in tennis gear. There was confidence in the way he held himself that was surprising in someone so small. Ryoma's father had made milk apart of his diet at an early age so he was taller then most kids. "You alright?"

"Fine." He tried again. It worked perfectly.

The blonde spun his racket, fingering the spaces in between. "What's your name?"

Ryoma didn't have any desire in small talk. People were always going on about unnecessary, unimportant things and he'd never understood why. There was no point of talking if you didn't really have anything to say.

Something crept into the kid's tone. "So you're one of those, huh? That's cool. My dad says I talk too much but that's only because people don't say enough, you know?"

He didn't. And he was a few seconds away from committing murder by a racket. Reluctantly, he stated, "My name's Ryoma."

"Kevin," The kid came closer and reached out his hand. It was dotted with red marker. At Ryoma's look he chuckled. "My teacher doesn't approve of naps during her teaching."

So they had something in common besides tennis. He stretched his hand. There on his left hand was a splay of blue diamonds with dots inside them. Kevin inspected it for a moment and then he was laughing, a noise that was so startling Ryoma dropped his racket. The boy bent down just as he did and their fingers brushed. Neither one moved but after a minute Kevin let go with a snort. He could feel the warmth receeding from his hand and he tried not to miss it.

"So cliche. If we fall on each other in the next five seconds I'm leaving." With that, Ryoma decided that friendship tasted sour.

* * *

"This is your room."

Ryoma almost gaped. The walls were painted an ocean blue with an array of photos aligning the walls. Some were of people posing; others looked unaware of a being photographed. There was one of a baby raising a tiny fist in the air that was doused in vibrant lighting. He felt the texture of the sheets on the bed. Silk. He turned back to his brother and his boyfriend- Oishi, he'd introduced himself as. He had a warm and friendly air that reminded Ryoma so much of his mother it hurt.

"So you like it?" Ryoga asked, doing a little dance and bumping into his boyfriend when Ryoma nodded.

He'd only been around his brother for three days but even he was fascinated by the seemingly endless energy that poured out of him. Oishi settled a hand on his elbow and shook his head. But he was smiling. Something that bordered on exasperation and leaned on fondness.

"How about you never try that again?" And Ryoga smiled sheepishly. "I bet you two are hungry. There are leftovers in the fridge."

He glanced at the bed and tried for a convincing yawn. It was Sunday, he realized rapidly. Because airplanes made him nauseous he'd refused any offers of food before the'd left. He hadn't thought of the schedule. Shit. He'd be lucky if he could hold anything down for days. But, then, maybe it was better that way. His hollow stomach would keep everything in perspective. It was painfully clear he did not belong here.

"Thank you, but I'm very tired."

They didn't seem to find anything wrong with his act and left him alone. Oishi promised he'd meet his daughter tomorrow and Ryoga had "exciting plans". It sounded exhausting but he agreed. He rifled through his clothes, taking in the room again. It was nice. Simple.

* * *

With the lights off and his eyes on the ceiling he admitted to himself that it wasn't so much that he missed his father as he missed having someone around who steadied him, made him better. He'd always been lacking something and now he had no one to harp on him daily. He pressed his eyes closed. Missing something was as bitter as licorice. How did you ever get rid of the taste when it'd been normal for it to be there?

When he heard the clattering of dishes and the sound of a conversation he rolled out of bed and opened the door. Eavesdropping was not something he usually did but he could almost guarantee they were discussing him.

Ryoga was talking. He sounded aggravated. "- I think it would be good for him. He needs to be around people, Shuichiro."

"Maybe. But don't you think he should be able to decide that for himself?" Oishi asked and Ryoma decided that he liked him right then and there.

"Of course I do. I just want him to be okay and it's obvious that there's something wrong."

"His father just died."

And there it was. The justification for everything. It could all be wrapped into a pretty package and sent off with no trouble at all. His father was dead and he was- whatever he was. A skeleton with skin, walking and talking but never eating. Being empty gave you endless possibilities of being nothing, of doing the same things over and over again without anyone noticing. Not wanting to hear anymore, Ryoma shut his door softly and went back to bed. Very simple.

* * *

Oishi's daughter, Shizuka, was two and he had more in common with her then he did with anybody else he'd ever met. She was chubby and tiny but she was quiet. Ryoga had put her on the floor but rolled on her back and just stared at the bulbs on the ceiling. Ryoma had decided to join her. It was the lights. He knew because he used to do the same thing when he was younger. People had assumed something was wrong with him but his mother assured them that he was having his thinking time.

The thing was, when you were a kid people were bigger, lights were brighter and words were harder. But when you got older you realized that people were not that big and lights were not that bright and words were easy, it was the way you said them that was difficult.

He looked over. Shizuka's eyelids were fluttering, her breathing slowing into a solid cadence. And then Oishi was there and he was sitting beside them, watching. Ryoma shifted uneasily. There was something so uncomfortable about being observed when you didn't know why. Especially by a person you had known for less then two days.

"I'm pretty young, to have a child. I though you'd wondered." Which he had but it wasn't like he cared enough to ask.

Oishi took his silence and ran with it. Just like everyone else. "My father arranged for me to marry a woman named Sakuno Ryuuzaki when I was eighteen. I was upset about it at first, rightfully so, but then I agreed to try if Sakuno was okay with it."

Ryoma focused on Shizuka's fingers. They were barely a whisper of a thing. How did something so little stay unharmed under the pressure of the world?

"We got married and it was easy. It was like breathing. She was the purest, kindest human being I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. But, well, she was-"

"Boring."

Oishi ducked his head. The hair on the top of his head strayed into his eyes. Embarrassment and honesty tasted of peppermint, lighting you up when you were least expecting it. It was cool but refreshing once you were used to it. "Yeah, I guess that's the word. When she had Shizuka I thought that things would get more exciting but they didn't. It got to the point where we hardly talked to each other unless we had to. And one day I came home and she was gone."

His voice fell. Ryoma wanted to say he was sorry but he didn't know how to make the words sound right coming out of his mouth so instead he blurted, "Ryoga said you were annoying and that you drove him crazy."

He winced. So stupid. He was_ so stupid_. He dug his nails into his wrists and pressed until there was a satisfying sting. Then he heard a noise akin to chimes being blown in the wind. Ryoma sat up. At first he thought Oishi was crying but then it registered that there were no tears in sight and that the sound he had just heard was laughter. His brother's boyfriend was shaking his head, face twisting in humor. "What's so funny?"

Brown eyes danced. "Nothing."

He raised an eyebrow. Everybody was so weird.

* * *

"No."

"Come on, Ryoma. I'll pay you. I get money managing Rikkaidai and I'll split half of it with you if you look after the problem children."

"I don't want to babysit grown men, Ryoga." He eyed the building in front of him. It was a recording studio. A small one, sure, but there was nothing ugly about its brick foundation and golden plaques. He stretched then gripped the car when a wave of dizziness hit. This was getting stupid. He'd gone longer then this before; he knew he could do it. He was so close to being back to where he was supposed to be.

Ryoga headed toward the door, ushering Ryoma along. "Trust me. I know you can do it."

How did he know he could do anything? They barely knew each other. And trust was earned not freely given like a pencil or a stick of gum. All in the name of family. Blood and water were both liquids; there was no doubt that they could be contained. But he was too exhausted to argue. "Whatever. I better get paid."

Ryoga grinned and he didn't think he'd ever seen so many people smile in so short amount of time before. It made his stomach ache in ways he didn't understand.

"It'll be fine. Just keep Fuji and Atobe away from the window."

* * *

_Monday_

He decided that maybe he didn't hate his brother that much. As soon as Ryoga introduced him to everyone he'd ducked out with a barely a glance in his direction but no one seemed to pay him any attention. There were five guys in the band, he noted, looking around. Plus, a frightening manager who mumbled to himself while scribbling in a black notebook.

The singer- Fuji- was sitting on top of the piano immersed in papers. He kept twitching his fingers randomly while the violin player looked his way every second or so, as if waiting for something. He leaned back in his chair farthest away from them. Everyone was quiet and he didn't see why they really see why they needed someone to watch over them in the first place.

"Ore-sama wouldn't mind helping you if you needed it." The violin player- Atobe, Ryoma thought his name was- said from his spot next to Fuji as if he was offering something supremely important. He rolled his eyes at the man's name for himself.

Everyone was tensing. Tezuka, the quiet piano player who hadn't seemed the least interested in his arrival, stopped in his practicing. Fuji re-shifted but didn't tear his attention away from his papers. His eyes were half closed but Ryoma thought he saw a slit of blue, somewhere close to the color of the guitarist's hair. There was something dangerously off kilter about him. "I'm fine. Please be quiet, your breaking my concentration."

The redhead resting lazily on the floor whispered something to the guitarist and they inched closer to the door. The manager peered at the scene over his glasses.

Atobe apparently had major issues with picking up on subtle hints to fuck off and went on. "Ore-sama has two years of experience writing lyrics and thinks that you-"

The fingers stilled. "Atobe. If I hear you say ore-sama one more time I will cut off your nose and make you eat it."

Atobe fell back with a huff but stopped talking. Ryoma rubbed his forehead with two fingers. He was getting a headache which, while not unexpected, was still pretty shitty. He sighed at the sound of the piano picking up again. His mother had played and taught him despite the fact that his father hadn't liked it. _"Musical talents are all well and good for women and young girls. Not for men." _

Music had never seemed narrowed to sex or race. Maybe it wasn't a great career choice but playing sports wasn't exactly something to be proud of either. If you could honestly say that what you did with your life made you happy then why did it matter what it was? He played tennis because he knew it from the inside out and he was _good at it._ Perfect, if being undefeated was proof enough. He needed to find something else, another thing he could do well besides tennis.

Someone sighed and before he knew it he could hear the arrogant tone from earlier saying something but this time Fuji was off the piano and flying and he could hear the sound of skin hitting skin. There was a burst of brown and the manager was scrambling to move, the other band members scooting in his direction. They didn't seem to remember that he existed but that didn't really bother him because Fuji and Atobe were not just fighting, they were brawling. Rough shoves and clawing of the flesh. He was surprised they hadn't broken anything yet. Ryoma stood up, glancing beside him.

The redhead mumbled, with flashing brown eyes and boredom written all over his face in bold letters, "I wonder how much it'll cost to fix the window this time."

Ah. So that's what Ryoga had meant. He winced when Atobe's head hit the window, denting it.

Well. Too late.

* * *

_Tuesday_

After assurances from Ryoga that fights between Fuji and Atobe were constant occurrences he went back to the studio the next day. He noticed a change as soon as he walked in.

Everyone was chattering lightly. Nothing too loud. There was something content in it, like a storm had passed and they were reveling in the rain. He sat down in what was slowly becoming his favorite chair, frowning when he noticed the absence of the fighting pair.

The redhead glanced up from his conversation with the pianist and caught his eye. They weren't brown really, there were grey-blue flecks that he was sure would be more prominent if he was closer. But he wasn't and there was no reason for him to be. Ryoma looked away. The door turned on his right and Fuji entered with Atobe right on his heels. They looked pretty polished for two guys who had practically mauled each other but Atobe had a black eye and Fuji lip was split.

"Rough night, guys?" Yukimura questioned, cocking his head to the side. Everyone was sitting in the same formation as yesterday. It was weird, how set they were in everything they did. Which was hypocritical of him but whatever. Only then did he realize what the guitarist was talking about. Atobe was _limping. _And Fuji was not.

"Oh, go fuck yourself, Yukimura." But Fuji was smirking, lounging on the piano. Did they ever practice? Tezuka seemed to be the only one actually accomplishing anything. The pianist was playing something fast today. Not angry but chaotic.

"Sure you won't do it for me?" The man leered then cringed when Atobe leaned his way with a hand in the air. Yukimura raised his hands in the air in a surrendering gesture. It was weird, seeing the teasing side of the band, after he'd almost drowned in silence the day before. Though Atobe seemed subdued and Yukimura's jeering sounded forced.

"Hey, who's the kid?"

Everyone turned to him. Ryoma stiffened because one, he was only two years younger then them and, two, Ryoga had introduced him to everyone. Even the insane Fuji Syusuke who probably had more personalities then an entire continent.

"Echizen Ryoma. The baka's younger brother." The redhead was on his back, staring at the light on the studio ceiling and Ryoma wondered if he saw the same things he saw. Probably not.

"Huh," Fuji led a hand down the piano. His hands were small and pale but not delicate. "I didn't know Echizen had a brother."

"Yeah, well, there's a lot you don't notice." The redhead said absently and even though Fuji quickly directed the conversation another way Ryoma knew he hadn't imagined the way his blue eyes had narrowed at the comment.

Maybe the drummer did see what he saw.

* * *

Ryoga and Oishi's relationship was not perfect.

Ryoga vibrated, constantly in motion. His movements were impulsive and he was loud. But Oishi was not. Everything he did had a purpose. Steadying Ryoga from falling, accepting it when Ryoma refused breakfeast. He was refreshing, concerned but not overbearingly so.

And they worked well together, each one adding something to the equation to make the results correct. They were magnets, that as much as they repelled, they attracted. Science and Math at it's finest. As much as he wanted to fit in somewhere he didn't want to make the answer a decimal or throw off the poles. He didn't want to ruin something _so good._ Because that was what he'd done to his mother and father's relationship. Made them take sides. Maybe it would be different but maybe it would be the same.

So while Ryoga and Oishi ate at the table, laughing at Shizuka attempts at eating, he swirled his spoon in his soup and suffocated his feelings.

* * *

That night, Ryoma threw up in the darkness of the bathroom. He pressed a long nail down his arm and trailed it down hard. He wanted a wound, something he could press on for days and still feel. He shuddered when he felt his skin open. He was clammy, he knew, from vomiting. Because that was what loneliness tasted like; blood and sweat and the never ending sound of the piano.


	3. Cereal

This was a weird chapter but there's something about it I like. Maybe it's because we get to see Ryoma finally speak. And this is kind of a lead in, again, to the better stuff.

If you feel like you've been cheated of reading about Seigaku's performance, don't be. Ryoma pretty much said it: They weren't that great. Not to say they aren't talented. They are. But, well, _mada mada dane. _

I feel like I should have Ryoma meet Rikkadai but I'd probably die because _Marui._

Anything with Kevin is a flashback.

Thanks for the reviews. I appreciate all of your faces. I'll message back at some point, promise.

For info about the next chapter and answering a question I've gotten, wait till you get to the bottom of the page.

-Sy

Warning: Anorexia. Bulimia. Slash/ Yaoi. Possible mentions of self harm. Mentions of attemped suicide. OOCness but who cares? It's an AU.

Note: There's little parts that make up a lot of Ryoma's eating disorder. I hope you see it.

* * *

"The only number that would ever be enough is 0. Zero pounds, zero life, size zero, double-zero, zero point. Zero in tennis is love. I finally get it." - Laurie Halse Anderson

* * *

They were lying on Kevin's bed, tangled in covers. They were pressed so tightly together that whenever Kevin breathed he wanted to breathe with him. Ryoma could feel the difference in their bodies in every accidental bump against his ribs. He startled when he felt the brush of fingers on his thigh. He'd thought Kevin was asleep.

"Ryoma."

"What?"

"What do you think love feels like?"

Ryoma thought about it. What did love feel like? He wouldn't know. Loving his mother had been different, it had just existed. He'd never felt the frame or form of it. But, then, he had never been good at feeling things. Loving his mother had tasted of buttered toast. There was always a spot that practically melted into your mouth until it was gone and you wished it wasn't. But that wasn't the kind of love Kevin meant. "I don't know. Does it really matter?"

The fingers that stopped at his response continued.

"No," His boyfriend whispered. He sounded like he was choking. "I guess not."

* * *

On his way out the door, Oishi stopped him, Shizuka in his arms. She was playing with her hands, waving them around in the air. Oishi didn't even flinch when she hit him in the face. Ryoga was attending a meeting with the band he managed, Rikkadai. "Ryoma, did you eat something?"

He shrugged because they both knew he hadn't. Oishi frowned.

"Well, at least take this." A container was placed in his hands and Ryoma inspected it. "It's fruit."

Which was okay. He could deal with fruit, especially since he did need to try to eat something. Fainting was not apart of his schedule. He fingered his plain, black shirt and kept his focus on the space behind Oishi. Gratitude tasted like watermelon, you had to spit out the seeds to get the sweetness. "Thanks."

* * *

_Wednesday_

"Inui, when's our next gig?" Fuji asked but he was eyeing Tezuka with some much intensity Ryoma was surprised that the he hadn't exploded. The pianist was playing something complicated, resolute. He couldn't keep with the pace of it. As soon as he thought he'd figured it out, it changed. He went back to studying the container of fruit on his lap. To eat or not to eat, that was the question.

The manager, who'd been imperceptibly absent yesterday, answered, "Tomorrow."

"Excuse me?" Fuji jumped off the piano the proceeded to pace the length of the room.

"You're excused." Atobe pursed his lips irritably. He'd narrowly avoided being hit in the face from Fuji's sudden movements. Fuji glared at him. Atobe glared back.

Yukimura exhaled loudly from the lounge chair behind Atobe. The redhead- Kikumaru, he'd remembered- seemed to be sleeping. Everyone looked tired and he didn't understand why. He wasn't even sure he wanted to know. Fuji moved away from his staring match and continued pacing. "There's so much work to do. I mean the song-"

"-Is not needed. You'll perform something that you already have." Inui said, patiently.

"Tezuka," Fuji started then paused when the blonde didn't pay any attention to him. Blue eyes flashed. "Tezuka, stop playing."

The piano stopped but the blonde didn't look up.

"Can I come over tonight so you can help me practice?"

Ryoma recognized the tone. His father had been an expert at it. A command disguised as a question. There was no way out of it because there was no choice. Inui shifted in his seat, focusing on the pages of his notebook with calculated interest. Tezuka's hands clenched on the piano, hard enough it appeared painful, but he nodded. And nobody said anything the rest of the day.

Ryoma took back a full container.

* * *

_Thursday_

It was a club. Nothing too big but it wasn't exactly a café. Ryoma squirmed from his position off to the side. Everyone was backstage, getting ready for the performance. He watched Yukimura strum his guitar absently and Atobe play with the strings of his violin. Fuji was sipping something from a mug, hand resting on Tezuka's shoulders as the pianist pressed his fingers in the air, running through the song. The air was alight with some sort of nervous, excited energy and even though he wasn't apart of it he couldn't help being effected by it too. But something was missing.

Inui popped his head out through the curtain. "Has anyone seen Kikumaru? You're on in ten."

Everyone shook their head. Fuji voice was irritated when he said, "Well, I'm not going to search for him. He's a big boy."

Ryoma left, leaving the conversation behind him. Disappearing into the crowd of people, avoiding the slew of bodies pressed together. The music wasn't terrible but it could have been better. Not his taste. He stopped when he saw the familiar sight of red hair seated on a stool at the bar. Kikumaru took a swig of something then glanced behind him as if sensing eyes on his back. The drummer blinked when he saw Ryoma.

"You're on in ten minutes."

"Your brother's looking for you."

They both turned away, shrugging into the awkwardness of being in sync. The drummer's voice was quiet, husky as if he only used it in places where no one could hear. Kikumaru hopped off the stool, brushing past him, and then pausing two inches away. The lights weren't bright but Ryoma could see the emptiness that mirrored his own trying to bury itself into a mask for the stage.

"Don't tell Oishi you saw me."

A few minutes later the crowd went quiet and soft music filtered through the speakers over the pounding of his pulse.

* * *

"So did you like it?" His brother asked after Seigaku had finished and they were outside getting ready to leave. Oishi was beside them but his gaze was fleeting, searching for someone else. Ryoma covered his arms. It was cold and he'd been stupid not to bring a jacket. He noticed Seigaku coming towards them and held himself tighter.

"It was fine." Because it had been. Nothing fantastic because they were so over the place it was hard to find the point where they all met.

"I guess that's an adequate compliment." Fuji laughed over his shoulder but it was all sound. He couldn't help it; his mouth ran before his brain did.

"Who said it was a compliment?"

Yukimura snorted but then morphed it into a cough when everyone turned to him. Atobe scoffed. Ryoga patted Fuji's shoulder. "Don't pay any attention to my brother."

Yeah. Don't pay any attention to Ryoma. That had always been a trend.

"Where's Kikumaru?" Oishi asked, biting his lip.

"You know him. He doesn't like staying out this late."

Oishi narrowed his eyes at Fuji. He didn't seem to appreciate the reply in the least. It surprised him. Oishi didn't seem like the type to dislike anyone. But there was a lot he didn't know about these people, his brother included. All of a sudden something warm was draped over his shoulders and he unconsciously burrowed closer to it. The pianist stood next to him, expression unchanging.

"Thank you."

The man nodded, accepting his thanks. He left then, ushering his band mates along with him. Ryoga and Oishi were oddly silent and on their way home it hit him that he still had Tezuka's jacket perched on his shoulders.

* * *

He admired the fact that when Ryoga and Oishi fought, they at least tried to keep it quiet. But it was always hard for him to sleep, millions of thoughts racing through his mind like traffic and there was no way he wouldn't hear the angry tones even from down the hall.

"You don't have to take care of him anymore, he's not a child."

"That doesn't mean I can't worry. Why does bother you so much? We're barely friends. Obviously not for a lack of me trying."

Ryoma grabbed his pillow and pressed it over his face, trying to stifle the conversation. His breathing quickened, his lungs probing for more air then there was under the darkness. He'd tried to suffocate himself once, but all he'd succeeded in doing was blacking out. He wouldn't try it again.

"I'm not-" Ryoga seemed to fumble with something for a moment. "I have nothing against your friendship. Kikumaru has never been anything but nice to me. But Fuji-"

There was a clacking of dishes and Ryoma sighed. The pillow definitely wasn't going to work. From Oishi's voice the conversation was pretty much over anyway. "Let's not mention Fuji and Eiji in the same sentence, Ryoga."

His brother raised his voice again; a kind of weary resentment creeping in that told Ryoma they'd had this same argument many times before. "Why? They've both had terrible lives and their struggling through it."

"You can't compare what happened to them. They're on completely different levels. What are you- Do you even know what you're saying?"

Ryoma padded his way out of his room. None of it was his business, despite his curiosity. He opened the door to the bathroom and thanked whatever God existed that it was soundproof. He leaned against the toilet, thinking. It was tempting but it was Thursday and he liked to think he deserved the one meal he'd gotten today. He probably didn't, but it was an interesting thought. Unwillingly, his eyelids slipped closed and the taste of sage lulled him to sleep.

* * *

"I'm sorry you had to hear that." Ryoga commented, lowering the volume on the CD he'd put in. His brother was driving him to some burger place that Seigaku frequented on Fridays. He rolled his neck. Ryoga had found him in the morning and understod why he was there without him saying. His neck was still sore from sleeping at such an awkward angle but he found the absence of Oishi a little more jarring.

"It's fine."

"No. Fighting is never a good thing to be around. We should have-"

Ryoma wanted to tell him that the fighting was almost nice, in a way. Dissimilarity from the crystallized silence of living with his father. Noise was unfamiliar but not uncomfortable, like the photographs in his room. He wanted to ask where Oishi was and if he was going to come back soon. If they had broken up. But because he was himself, he just watched the trees breeze by and repeated, "Its fine."

* * *

_Friday_

The smell of burgers was making Ryoma sick and apparently he was not doing a good job of hiding it.

"Are you alright?" Kikumura leaned in and studied him. He tried to turn but his mouth was dry and sudden movements were not going to help the vertigo that was flaring. He focused on Tezuka's glasses. Boring black rimmed frames, nothing special or flattering but they looked good on him. Tezuka caught his gaze and held it. Ryoma focused on something else.

"I'm fine." Lies were spicy. They burned in your mouth until you doused them. He took a sip of water from the table. Everyone had already ordered. Why was he here? He did not need to be here.

Atobe decided to add his input. "Order something, brat."

"Not hungry." That was true. He hadn't been hungry in years. Fuji and Yukimura entered the restaurant, hands brushing dangerously close to each other as they walked. When they slid into the booth Atobe exchanged a glance with Tezuka.

"Wait," Fuji declared and everyone did as he said." I don't have any money on me."

Atobe muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Of course you don't." and Fuji ignored him.

Eiji leaned away from Ryoma, beating the table reflexively with insecure hands. "I'll pay for you."

When Fuji smiled, without a trace of movement of anything but his mouth, he wondered how a person could be so unwaveringly fake in their authenticity.

* * *

No one bothered him about eating but he could feel the weight of it on his shoulders like a scale. He could eat if he wanted to. He _could. _Everyone saw it as normal to stuff themselves with calories and sugar. It was normal. But he'd never eaten in front of anyone before. Not a complete meal, anything substantial. And he'd never understood how people did. It was a vulnerability and he'd never seen it as anything but private.

"Eiji," Fuji rose, stretching radically enough that his shirt hiked up and exposed skin. Ryoma shifted his gaze to Atobe who appeared wholly disconnected. "Let's go."

The redhead threw a peace sign over his shoulder, following Seigaku's singer with slumped shoulders. The tension at the table disappeared and everyone seemed to exhale collectively.

"I need a drink. " Yukimura announced and then vanished, Atobe leaving not long after to catch up with him. It did not go unnoticed by Ryoma that the violinist left enough money to pay for everyone. He sipped at his water.

And then there were two.

"Do you want to walk?" The question sounded so strange coming out of Tezuka's mouth that it took a few seconds longer for him to comprehend it. But he nodded in agreement.

Ten minutes later they were walking toward the direction of his house. It would probably take about twenty minutes on foot, not that he minded. He shivered when a gust of wind blew in their direction and opened his mouth then shook his head. Tezuka raised a questioning brow.

He mumbled awkwardly, "I forgot your jacket."

Honestly, he had a horrendous memory and giving him things if you intended on getting them back was a bad idea. Tezuka didn't say anything, but a few seconds later a jacket was being laid in his arms. It was the same color as the other one, a fine dark blue. Ryoma put it on, uncomplaining but still curious. He looked at the man's short sleeves dubiously.

"Aren't you cold?"

The answer was curt and clear. "No."

Half way to his house when the silence had become relaxed enough that he almost felt like falling asleep, he asked a question. "Would you teach me that piece you were playing on Wednesday?"

There was a pause and he braced himself for the no but Tezuka suprised him. "Yes."

* * *

The next chapter is going to be uber long and I have (fun) Finals coming up so this will be your update until June. But, like I said, it'll be pretty long so I might end up splitting it up. I go by fives anyway. Five ages, five days, five weeks and five months which is when it'll slow down a little.

To answer a question by someone in the reviews, "Will this be OT6/ OT5?"

I don't know...Will it?

And last but not least: An outline of the next chapter(s) so you all don't hate me and have something to look forward to.

Week 2- Oishi comes back. Tezuka teaches Ryoma a song and Ryoma, in turn, teaches him one too.

Week 3- Atobe and Ryoma babysit Shizuka (I'm forever laughing at this).

Week 4- Ryoma and Eiji have a talk on the swings about...Things. Yukimura warns him about Fuji.

Week 5- Fuji tries to sleep with Ryoma. Yeah. I know.

Bleh. Have a great week. Memorial day. Whatever.


	4. Doughnuts

This is for all the Royal Pair and Pillar Pair shippers out there. I hope you don't hate me.

A special thanks to AtobeLover for being a fellow Horio/ Ryoma shipper and listening to my ramblings. Your great. And four for MeadowWoods despite the fact she's quite disturbingly disappeared. You go, Glen Coco.

The next chapter is longer and sadder so I had to get the humor out for this chapter. The last part is a dream sequence.

Note, well, two actually: Don't ever play Strip War. It's so unfair. Honestly. Just don't. And, secondly, Thrill Pair and Cat Pair get their spotlight next chapter. God, I hope none of_ you guys_ will hate me.

Warnings: Anorexia. Bulimia. Language. An extreme game of Strip War. OOCness but hello, AU.

By the way, if I owned Prince of Tennis (Which I don't) then Ryoma would have a whole secret past and flirt and be kind of greatly manwhorish.

* * *

"The fear of an unknown never resolves, because the unknown expands infinitely outward, leaving you to cling pitifully to any small shelter of the known: a cracker has twelve calories; the skin, when cut, bleeds."

― Caroline Kettlewell

* * *

The weekend was hard. Not just for himself but for Ryoga. His brother was uncharacteristically silent and his movements were sluggish. You had to really love a person, that their absence made you less of who you were. Ryoma stayed in bed, staring at the pictures on his wall. Tezuka's jackets were lying over the desk, reminding him to return them. Food made his stomach ache but he forced some things down and tried not to find fault in eating.

But he missed tennis.

_A real passion for something doesn't go away no matter where you are, _was what his brother had said. But how did if you know if something was real? How did you know?

* * *

_Week 2_

Playing piano again was as difficult as he knew it would be. It'd been awhile since he'd played and even then he'd never been particularly fantastic. He played a note then another until he saw Tezuka's face. He stopped. "It's not right?"

Tezuka shook his head, but didn't say anything, just demonstrated the notes. He concentrated on the sounds. High, flat, high, flat, flat. It took a few minutes but Ryoma finally got the hang of it, relaxing into the emptiness of the room. The band had left early, claiming they all had things to do. Fuji had shot him an unreadable glance as he walked out.

It was insane, the way they all worked. He really didn't care if they were screwing each other but they could have been a little more subtle about it.

There was something warm lying on top of his fingers suddenly and when he realized it was Tezuka's hand he pulled away. The blonde spoke, pushing the glasses that had fallen down back up. "You're playing something else."

Which he had a tendency to do because the piano reminded him of his mother and her favorite song had been "Because I love you" by Yumira. It was the saddest song he'd ever heard but she discovered something joyous in it. There were only certain types of people who found the good things in the bad and he'd never been one of them.

"Sorry," It was weird that he'd just noticed how close Tezuka was. Nothing disturbing, but they were close enough that they were quite possibly breathing the same air. He shook it all way. The piano. They were playing the piano. "It's familiar."

"It's nice." And apparently, the pianist was one of those people too.

"Want me to teach it to you?"

It was the closest he could go to making a joke, being sarcastic. It tasted like cereal without milk. He didn't think he'd ever get used to it despite the fact that some people were. Tezuka didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he ignored it. Just nodded, face scrunched together in concentration. Well.

Ryoma taught him the piece, closing his eyes into the melody that he knew as well he knew pain.

* * *

Oishi was in the kitchen when he came home. He was humming, stirring a pot on the stove. Shizuka was in a high chair, playing with a cheerio like it was a difficult crossword puzzle. Ryoma cleared his throat and Oishi spun around, brushing a tendril off his forehead.

"Ryoma," There was a moment where Oishi seemed to wrestle with something but then he was smiling and it didn't seem to matter. "It's good to see you."

_You left. _He shouldn't have let it bother him because he'd known his brother's boyfriend for no more then a week. But a part of him didn't think it was fair how much everyone was keeping him in the dark. As much he wished he could rewind time he wasn't a kid anymore. Wasn't sure he'd ever been.

He shrugged at the sentiment, tolerating but not returning. Shizuka babbled something from her chair but it was too low for him to hear.

Oishi tilted his head. "Are you okay? Have you been eating? I'm sorry I wasn't here. I stayed with Shizuka's grandmother for a few days."

"Because you and my brother were fighting." Ryoma filled in the rest and straightened when he received a wince for his troubles. But it didn't matter because he didn't care, _he didn't care. _

"Yes. I'm sorry for that." Oishi had sad eyes, he noticed. Just like Kikumaru. No matter what they never shook the darkness in them, even when there was a light. Maybe that's why they didn't force conversation on him, because they understood the things he didn't say more then the things he did.

"It's fine."

He was going to have to start going around with a calculater to add up how many times he said that a day.

* * *

_Week 3_

Babysitting was fine. Babysitting Shizuka was fine. Babysitting Shizuka with Atobe? Not fine.

They were spread out on the floor in the living room trying to get Shizuka to stop crying. Ryoga and Oishi had gone out for dinner to some fancy restaurant. Ryoma didn't understand why they hadn't just left him to take care of the baby, but Ryoga had said something about bonding and Oishi had agreed. He raked his free hand through his hair, hoping the loud wailing would end soon.

"Here, Ore-sama will take her." Atobe stretched his arms out.

_She doesn't like you._ "I've got her."

"Yes, and obviously you shouldn't because she's crying."

Well, fuck you too then. Cautiously, he handed Shizuka over. She was light, for someone who looked so chubby and he couldn't help but be afraid that she was going to fall apart every time she was held. For a second, she kept howling and Ryoma was going spew out some nasty comment about kids finding him annoying too but then-

Silence.

Atobe's dark blue eyes glittered with smugness. Shizuka's head rested on the man's shoulder, her brown lashes closing. The traitor. Ryoma rested his head on the bottom of the couch, ignoring the body near him until it stood up.

"Ore-sama's going to put her in her crib."

Whatever.

* * *

Atobe sat in the kitchen, swirling a cup of water around beside him. There in the middle of the table was a deck of cards with a note attached to the joker on plain copy paper. He recognized the harsh contrast of his brother's loopy letters and Oishi's tiny scrawl.

_Dear R, _

_Don't do anything I wouldn't do. _

_-Ryoga _

And right below that:

_Don't listen to your brother. Have fun. _

_-Oishi_

_P.S: But really don't do anything that I wouldn't do. _

Atobe sighed into his drink, gesturing to the note with a wave of his hand. "Strip poker?"

How cliché. "How about we don't and say we did?"

"Scared, brat?" There was a challenge in the curve of violinist's mouth that irritated him.

He wasn't stupid. Strip poker was pratically foreplay. And having foreplay with someone who looked like they'd just escaped the zoo was not on his list of life goals. He was bored but he wasn't that bored.

"I don't want to play."

Neither said anything for awhile. He listened to the drone of the refrigerator which was making his headache worse then it already was. But then Atobe asked, "Where are your parents?"

"Dead."

Atobe set his cup down with a loud thump, features shading into softer lines. "I'm sorry."

He wanted to say something cruelly detached like, "Don't be, I'm not." But that was a lie. And he'd never been one to lie unnecessarily. So he forced out a strangled, "Thanks."

"Your welcome, brat." Atobe said self-importantly then eyed the deck of cards again with a smirk. "How about Strip War then?"

* * *

An hour later, he and Atobe were arguing about who had actually won even though it was obvious that he had. Atobe didn't have his pants, his shoes, his socks, his shirt and other random acessories. The only thing Ryoma had lost was his shirt but then Atobe had made him put his on anyways. It was long-sleeved and huge on him but it smelled good. Like vanilla.

"You were probably cheating the entire time. Ore-sama knew he shouldn't have let you shuffle the cards."

"You can't cheat in Strip War, idiot. "

"You can cheat in just about anything. "

"You would know, wouldn't you?"

Someone cleared their throat's behind them and they turned to see a laughing Ryoga and an amused Oishi. Ryoma quickly forced his way back into his own shirt but Atobe just leaned back in his chair, seemingly content to be observed in his underwear. His brother started to say something but paused when a loud cry from down the hall was heard. Oishi padded out the room to get Shizuka, Ryoga on his heels.

He shook his head at Atobe sardonically. "I knew she didn't like you."

* * *

It was a carnival. He knew because there were lights and people and music. He was on the tea cups with no one beside him. He could hear a baby crying. Two boys fighting. But he was alone. The ride lazily turned and he threw his head back, getting lost in the endlessness of the sky. But then there was someone next to him cheering him on. Unexpectedly, he was spinning, so fast that everything blurred together like water color. There was a low keen, a sort of sound one would associate with crying, and it was only after closing his eyes that he realized it was coming from him.

"Ryoma? Ryoma? It'll be alright. It'll be fine." The voice beside him said soothingly and he tried to find some comfort in the tone, the words, but he was going too fast and all he wanted to do was slow down. He lurched forward and threw up into the grass.

* * *

I should never be allowed to write a dream again.


	5. Eggs

I just wrote some of the last chapter of this story and ugh. I don't even know. But whatever. Let's focus on the current chapter, shall we?

There's no Oishi or Ryoga in this chapter because they're in the next chapter way too much. The next chapter is funny but not funny. Which is apparently my specialty.

The song that Fuji sings is mine. As in I wrote it and sing it. Better then Fuji. My band will attest to that. Yes, it is about sex. Which is why me writing songs is dangerous.

The dream sequence from last chapter is pretty important. The baby crying was Shizuka. Two boys fighting was Fuji and Yuuta. It was just supposed to represent Ryoma going from being stuck. never going anywhere and then suddenly going to fast. Eiji actually looked up at the sky like Ryoma did in the dream. But Ryoma doesn't really remember it. When you have an eating disorder it's harder to sleep and when you do sleep you either dream a lot or forget the dreams you had.

The voice was a combination of people but you'll figure a lot of stuff out next chapter.

To Ciel D'or Serendipite for being kind of great and loving Thrill Pair. And to the people who read but don't review. I see you.

Warnings: Anorexia. Bulimia. Self-loathing. Language. Fuji assaulting human beings. Unapologetic fluff. Slash/Yaoi, that is if you want to qualify that as something to be warned against. OOCness but guess what? It's an AU so I can make them cry if I want to. Not sure I got that phrase right.

Note: So maybe I kind of sorta accidentally on purpose used Tohru from Fruits Basket as the waitress but I mean. I have no regrets. Kyo and Yuki will probably be seen at some point because they are love bye.

And now on to my awkward poetry.

* * *

Ignorance is bliss and I'd trade it for it a kiss.

There's sanguinity in dying.

And, oh, I know you're trying. But not hard enough.

On my soul it reads in fine print, _tread lightly here._

I guess you didn't look and just took.

Tore the wings off butterflies when you knew they needed them to fly. Spent the teaching of truth learning how to lie.

And, oh, I know that you're trying. But hope is always dying.

Though not hard enough.

-Hell Is Cold

* * *

He and his father didn't really talk. They had one-sided conversations where his father told him what to do and he nodded and said, "Yes, sir." There was never yelling or shouting or bursts of emotions. He was a man and men did not cry. They didn't talk about how they wished for a different life or wanted to be a normal kid who stole cookies from the jar. Feelings were figments of the imagination. As long as you beat your mind you could beat it all.

* * *

_Week 4_

"I finished the song." Fuji announced from his usually spot on the piano. Yukimura and Atobe were huddled up, whispering to each other with unfathomable glances in Ryoma's direction. It was slightly confusing but he let it go. Tezuka wasn't playing, staring at the keys like he'd forgotten how. "Does anyone want to hear it?"

Kikumaru nodded. The drummer was sitting closer to him then usually and he kept looking at him like he wanted to say something but didn't know how. Everyone seemed unsettled which wasn't unusual with Fuji around but it was more so then normal. He listened as the sound of the piano flew through the room. It was almost a relief. He'd gotten used to Tezuka's playing. He knew it better then he knew his own.

Fuji had a good voice. It was high and clear and hit the notes at exactly the right moments. His eyes were shut, a hand going up or down into the words. The song was chilling but Ryoma leaned into it because it meant something.

_I just want to watch you shiver, shiver, shiver_

_I just want to watch you shiver, shiver, shiver_

_But not from the cold. _

_No, not from the cold._

_Not from the cold. _

_I just want to watch you shiver_

Obviously, it was about sex. And with Fuji that was most likely about control. He didn't have anything against sex, he _was_ an eighteen year old boy, but he found it hard to find any pleasure in being so close to someone for such a longer period of time. It was messy, dirty, tiring. And people made it ugly, wielding it as weapon to use and abuse. Kevin had definitely deserved better but Ryoma had never treated him like a play toy.

_Slower, slower but harder, harder. _

_Nails dig out the sorrow but I don't think it'll hurt enough tomorrow_

_So faster, faster but softer, softer _

_I don't want to be that kind of monster_

His voice faded away and there was a rough silence before Yukimura broke it, stage whispering, "It took him that long to write a song about sex? Doubtful."

* * *

Fuji pointedly disappeared the next day so they all decided to walk to the burger place together. Atobe complained that it was about to start raining though nobody listened to him. But Ryoma noticed the umbrella Tezuka had slipped in his pocket before anyone could see. He huddled into his (Well, Tezuka's) jacket but he knew that if it did rain it would be no real use to him. There was no hood. But it was comfortable and Tezuka didn't seem to mind him wearing it so often.

"See? It's a perfectly nice day, Ato-"

Then it started raining.

"Ore-sama told you it was going to-"

Tezuka cut in, as exasperated as Ryoma had ever heard him sound. "We all know very well what it's presently doing right now, Keigo."

"Yukimura, why are you looking at me like that?" Kikumaru asked because Yukimura was staring at him mischievously. The guitarist reached out, lithe fingers wiggling, and attacked Eiji's side. The redhead jerked back and, Ryoma thought for a second his expression danced with sadness, but then he was running down the sidewalk. Yukimura chased after him, picking the redhead up and twirling him around until he was a mess of squeaks. They looked young, like they'd never found out about the bad things that came out at night. But maybe the monsters were easier to face with someone there with you.

"Children these days." Atobe rolled his eyes but there was a fondness to it and when Tezuka opened his umbrella and covered him with it, there was a subtle brushing of hands. Then they both noticed him.

"Come on, brat," Atobe beckoned, looking very much like royalty with Tezuka holding the umbrella above him like a paid servant. The blonde didn't seem to mind though. "You'll get wet."

Ryoma shook his head then grimaced when he felt droplets of water fly out of his hair unto his face. But it was water. It wasn't like he'd melt. "I'm fine."

"No, your not. Come on. There's plenty of room for all of us."

He watched Yukimura and Kikumaru talk in the distance, foreheads pressed together, red mashing into blue. It baffled him, really. Because loving Fuji must have been difficult but loving three other people had to be insanely hard. Or maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was easier to give pieces of yourself to completely different people then giving the whole puzzle to one person. He turned to Atobe and Tezuka who were watching him expectantly and walked forward, letting someone shelter him for a change. Even though friendship was sour, acceptance tasted like a dozen glazed doughnuts with milk. It was all just a little too good to be true.

* * *

"What would you guys like?" The waitress questioned a few minutes after they'd sat down. She was pretty with waist-length, straight brown hair and long lashes. The kind of girl you'd take home to mother and never expect any trouble from. Well-behaved. Selfless. Boring.

Yukimura rested his chin on his hand and Ryoma knew he was going to say something completely inappropriate. "It depends. Are you on the menu?"

The girl opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. She scurried away, blushing an impossible red. Tezuka shook his head disapprovingly.

"That was very unnecessary, Yukimura."

"Atobe thought it was funny. "

The violinist huffed, mumbling something about them all being plebeians and wondering why he even ate at a place so below him. Ryoma wondered about that. Was Atobe rich? He had to be with such an air of refinement surrounding him. But he never talked about his family. Well, none of them did really. But Ryoga had said something about Atobe living with Yukimura.

"Ryoma?" Kikumaru started and he hummed to let the redhead now he was listening.

"If Fuji starts-"

Atobe jumped in. "Flirting."

"Blatantly propositioning." Yukimura winked at the waitress who'd decided to brave their table again. Ryoma had to give it to the girl, she was one brave warrior. Tezuka took pity on her and ordered his standard water with a cheeseburger. Ryoma debated on getting something himself and settled on the same thing as the pianist. He'd probably have to take slow bites but he could finish at least half of it. After the waitress had left- tripping over air when Yukimura smiled at her- Kikumaru continued the route of conversation.

"Or sitting closer then usual. Those kinds of things. Then leave. Right that second."

"Kikumaru," He frowned because he'd never said his name before and it didn't taste right on his tongue. "Thanks for the advice but I don't think I'll need it."

Everyone, besides Tezuka who just shook his head again, laughed. It wasn't cruel. They weren't laughing at him, but it was the kind of exclusive group amusement that clearly stated, _oh, how adorable that he really doesn't get it. _He tried not to get mad at them but anger was his default setting even when he did eat and he'd skipped his one meal yesterday.

"I really don't see what's so funny."

Yukimura splayed his hands on the table, flicking his gaze over him lazily but there was something related to concern blending in with the blue of his eyes. It was surprising. The guitarist always seemed to be amused. "You'll see."

* * *

Stepping out of the shower, Ryoma did something he hadn't done in longer then he could remember: he looked in the mirror.

It was weird, after all the time that had passed, seeing the person you had become staring back you. He pushed a finger to his cheeks, pressing the skin. He was all narrow bone and honey skin. His eyes were a mixture of brown and green, dipping into gold as the light hit them. But they were lifeless. When he was younger people had always told him that his eyes burned with some kind of fierce light and he wondered, staring, when the light had blown out. The hair on his head was black with green tinges that lay messily over his forehead. He wasn't bad looking. But then his gaze went down and he winced away.

He could see his ribs. Nothing too extreme, but they were there and noticeable and it was almost sickening how much the thought of it pleased him in some way. He was a mess of being too thin and being too large. But his size didn't really matter, even though it did. It was the fact that no matter what he did, how much he struggled for the state of perfection; he would never achieve it. He was a run-on sentence ofyouarenotgoodenough.

Ryoma laughed bitterly, turning to put on the clothes that he'd left on the floor. What was the point of living a life you didn't even want to live?

* * *

_Week 5_

"Hey."

Ryoma hand tightened on the swing. The park reminded him so much of Kevin he could almost taste the rain. But this was Kikumaru and the sun was out, so bright he wasn't sure it'd ever leave. Kikumaru claimed the swing next to him and he wondered why he'd even agreed to meet him here. They weren't friends. He'd never even had a friend before.

"What are you thinking about?"

How hard it was to find a purpose. He could devote his whole life to hating himself, to tearing himself up from the outside so badly his inside couldn't find a way to put itself back together again. It would be effortless. The only person who could destroy you was yourself. Everything else was just background noise. "I don't know."

"Okay," Kikumaru let him lie. Then he said, "I was raped in high school."

Ryoma swallowed then turned to look at the person beside him. There were a couple of kids playing the sand a far away. Kikumaru seemed entranced by their playing but there was a shakiness in his hands that had nothing to with drumming.

"How did it happen?"

"I was walking home from school; going to meet Oishi for some ice cream and this man grabbed me out of nowhere."

He knew what it was like to be massacred with apologizes that did nothing for you. He knew. "I wish that hadn't happened to you."

Kikumaru laughed. It sounded raw. "Me too. And then Oishi broke up with me the next day and I was so- I didn't feel like there was anything good left for me."

"So how did you get here?" _How did you keep going?_

"Fuji. I told him and he was by my side ever single step of the way. And somewhere along the way I found something in him that made me want to try."

He couldn't wrap his head around Fuji being anyone's motivation for living but there was always more to a person then their outer layers. He knew that he seemed temperamental, reserved. Lost. But maybe it wasn't so much that as it was that he'd never known who he was in the first place. He asked, because he was genuinely curious, "What about Fuji?"

Kikumaru turned to him, the red of his hair shining fiercely in the light, and he was smiling. A tiny step in the trek of a marathon. "He hasn't found his something yet."

"Why? I mean, why are you telling me all this?"

"Everybody needs somebody, Ryoma. We're no exception." Was all the drummer said before he threw his head back and started swinging.

* * *

Ryoma kept practicing. He didn't love the piano but it was a hobby he could immerse himself in until he found something all consuming. The door opened and he looked up. Fuji walked over and sat down at the bench. Ryoma cleared his throat. The singer's eyes were fully open, the kind of blue that you couldn't drown in, but froze you up on the inside until you were begging for even a trace of heat. He backed away when Fuji leaned in.

"What are you-"

He wasn't prepared for it. The kiss was rough and soft, too fast and too slow and he hated it. Ryoma felt a hand twist into his hair and pull. Involuntarily, he arched into yielding lips then shivered when Fuji's tongue stroked the inside of his mouth. He forced the tongue out and without meaning to, bit Fuji's lip and he felt a returning nip back. The singer tasted like- No. He shoved Fuji away and blood in his mouth grounded him into loneliness. _No._

"_What the fuck are you doing?_"

Fuji was breathing deeply, looking at him like he'd never seen him before. But then he was smirking, his confidence covering every scrap. "Whatever it was, you were doing it too."

"Oh, grow up. Not everyone is going to want you."

"Of course they will." The singer didn't even falter.

"You're just scared because you don't want anyone to see you and you're afraid because I do." He wiped his mouth with back of his hand, wishing he could get the taste of -God, whatever that was- out of his mouth.

Fuji's lips parted, red and bruised from his biting. He sounded baffled. "What are you talking about?"

Ryoma laughed because it wasn't even funny. It wasn't even funny how someone so clever could be this stupid. "Your so pathetic. You really don't know how screwed up you are, do you?"

There was a silence. He looked up swiftly when Fuji pressed a finger into his chest so hard he could feel the curve of his nail in his skin. The singer was flushed with anger, glaring daggers, but there was something _so wrong _with it because he was beautiful and this was not. "Don't think you know me. Don't you dare."

"Then don't assume you know what I want. You may have a harem of people ready at your beck and call but I am not them. Understood?" He pushed Fuji's finger off and left, slamming the door to the studio hard enough that it shook.

* * *

_Oops. I did it again. I messed with your hea-_

Sorry. See you at the next chapter.


	6. French Fries

I have legitimately four things in the works right now. Most of them one-shots. One a three-shot. I don't even know.

This chapter may feel like a filler chapter at first but, trust me, it's not. I might have made Ryoma a bit more sassy but that's just for my own amusement more then anything. Don't worry about it. Oh, and a big award to the person who finds out what Ryoma's new found passion will be. Or how Fuji's brother ended up in a coma.

Now I'm going to continue writing things that'll ruin people's lives.

By the way, this story ends in four more chapters. Yeah, I already cried but I bet you money I'll do it again.

Warnings: Anorexia. Bulimia. A self inflicted injury(hint, hint). Panic attack. OOCness but whatever, I'm too fucking tired for this shit, it's an AU.

* * *

"The dizzy rapture of starving. The power of needing nothing. By force of will I make myself the impossible sprite who lives on air, on water, on purity." -Kathryn Harrison

* * *

_Month 2_

Yukimura found him one day, still playing the piano long after everyone had gone.

"Ryoma," He froze, glancing up into eyes that were blue, but all together different then one's he was familiar with. The guitarist's hair was cleanly cut in a way that made it easier to see his face. Not that it made a difference. "I wanted to talk to you."

"Isn't that what you're already doing?" The question could have been misconstructed as rude but Yukimura didn't seem offended, if the gentle smile he gave him was a sign.

"Yes. But I wanted to talk about Fuji."

"I don't think there's any reason to talk about him."

The smile blotted out then re-painted itself into more dangerous colors. "He kissed you."

He'd been trying not to think about it because it made him angry and irritated. What had he wanted to accomplish with that? If he thought that Ryoma was just going to fall in bed with him then he really was insane. He shrugged. There was no point in denying it.

Yukimura reached over the grand piano and before Ryoma could jerk back, he was hugging him. Enveloping him into warmth that he hadn't asked for but was apparently was going to receive nonetheless. What was people's deal with touching him these days? But it was almost comforting, in a way. The guitarist wasn't overly warm but he smelled like honey. He shuddered when he felt the touch of a mouth on his ear. Damn his sensitive areas. He pulled back trying to gain back some of his anger. "Don't worry, Ryoma. I protect the people I care about. Always have."

He didn't miss the edge to the guitarist's voice but didn't ask, didn't want to know. Anyway, he didn't have to worry. Yukimura wasn't talking about him. Never him.

* * *

Ryoga and Oishi watched him eat from across the table. He chewed slowly. Swallowed. Took another bite. Repeated. Kevin had always teased him about the way he ate but it was the only way he _could_ eat. Dividing big items into pieces then moving clockwise, making small portions look bigger then they really were. He knew all the tricks.

"You know, if Fuji is giving you any trouble then we can help."

He pushed his plate away. There was the familiar churn in his stomach that accompanied anything related to food. "There's no need."

Oishi shifted and Ryoma noted how rare it was to see him so irritated. "There definitely is a need. If he made you feel uncomfortable in any way then Ryoga can do something about it."

Ryoga frowned. "I can?" He straightened at the look thrown his way. "I mean, I can."

His brother was half child. "How do you even know about this in the first place?"

"Atobe."

Of course. The noisy bastard. And how did Atobe know? Did Fuji not have lock on his mouth? Ryoma snorted. Poor choice of words. He slumped into his chair and suddenly wished desperately for Shizuka. They always focused more on him when she was away. "Fuji kissed me. I pushed him away. It's fine."

"The absolute nerve of him," Oishi made a disgusted click in the back of his throat. "It won't happen again."

"Where you so upset about this?"

"Yeah, why _are_ you so upset about this?" Ryoga crossed his arms, facing his boyfriend.

Oishi's eyes narrowed and Ryoma was starting to realize that anytime Fuji was introduced into a conversation he turned into the kind of person that listened less and talked more. And it wasn't like he didn't understand it. He wasn't exactly happy that he'd practically been assaulted, but Fuji had helped Kikumaru. There had to be something more.

"He shouldn't be able to just get away with using people like he does. It's not right."

Ryoga fluttered a hand on Oishi's arm. His tone was as achingly tender but firm. "You know there are all kinds of good people in the world, but they're not always like you, Shuichiro. Sometimes it's not obvious. Sometimes you have to reach out and find it before you can see it."

His brother rose, tilting his head toward the door before leaving the kitchen. Ryoma stood to follow but paused to awkwardly squeeze Oishi's shoulder. Comfort had never been his thing.

* * *

They drove mindlessly. The windows were down and they kept passing things until the only thing that never changed was the great blue sky above them. Ryoga didn't fiddle with the knobs or sing along to the radio off-key in an attempt to make him smile. He was still. When the car finally stopped, off on the side of the road in what looked like the middle of nowhere, Ryoga was uncharacteristically serious.

"Did I miss anything?"

He leaned back in his seat. "What?"

"Our father, Ryoma. I didn't know him. Did I miss anything?"

His father never told him he loved him or touched him or talked to him like a normal human being. He wasn't allowed to question or wonder. There were restrictions to what he could eat, how much he could gain. Anything more then a friendship was not tolerated because feelings were liabilities and those could influence the way you played. Tennis. Two syllables and he hated the way it tasted. Like half-cooked eggs. But he had been his father and maybe it didn't mean anything but maybe it meant _something._ He hadn't just devoted his life to a sport, he'd devoted his life to living the way his father had wanted him to live.

So he looked at his brother, really looked. His face was a drawing like everyone else's. Clearly erased spaces. Rough shading. Imperfections. But the inside was full of shapes, all well-drawn. Ryoma wanted that. He wanted someone to look at him like no matter how flawed he was on the outside, it didn't truly matter because there was always another side. Another part. "I don't know."

"Okay," His brother smiled at him. There was a touch of sadness in the curve of it but nothing bigger then the affection. Ryoma despised the affection. "That's okay."

"Why does Oishi hate Fuji so much?" He asked not necessarily to change the subject, but that was a nice bonus.

"He doesn't hate him. He's sorry about what happened to his brother but he doesn't like the way he treats people. Which I think stems from guilt."

About breaking up with Kikumaru most likely. "What happened to his brother?"

Ryoga restarted on the car, perking up like a child when a familiar song crept out the speakers. He grimaced. It was pop and pop should have been left as a name for soda.

"Oh, right. You don't know," Yeah, that was kind of why he was asking. "His brother fell into a coma two years ago."

* * *

Fuji was standing in the middle of his room when he came back, fingering the photographs in his room. Ryoma took of his jacket and sat on the bed, wishing that he could get back that anger he'd felt after they'd kissed. But he was just filled with such a nameless energy that made everything look grey. He could hear the whispers of conversation in the kitchen and he knew his brother would be fine.

"Was there something you wanted?"

"Eiji told you about what happened to him." It wasn't a question. He didn't answer because he didn't need to.

"My brother did it. I remember when Eiji told me that being so ashamed and-" He let go of the picture between his fingers. With a start, Ryoma realized that it was of Seigaku. They were holding a trophy, smiling, obviously in high school. Fuji turned around. His gaze was dim.

"I was relieved. I was the oldest but they never noticed me. I tried everything. Tennis and Photography. School. Learning about the family business. But they fawned over Yuuta. He did everything right and I was all wrong."

"Wh-"

Fuji repeated quietly. "I tried everything."

And Ryoma got it but he didn't. He could understand hurting yourself, he did it everyday. But damaging other's in the process was unfair. Just because your life sucked didn't mean that anyone else's had to. "Why do you treat them so badly?"

Fuji stared. "Why don't you eat?"

Because no one had every told him that he should. Nobody had ever told him he was adequate enough to get a chance. He rested his head in his hands and wished for different things. But, that was the thing about wishing. It never really got you anywhere but stuck, never moving forward. "I think you should leave."

Fuji didn't say anything. Ryoma dropped his hands and watched the singer move towards the door. He was glancing around the room like he was committing it to memory. His ruffled hair blocking Ryoma from his view. Then he was looking at him. The same way he'd been looking at the room, and Ryoma was surprised at the present warmth there. But then it was gone and he was all iciness that threatened frostbite. His voice, when he spoke, was almost eerily dull. "Yes. I think it's time I did that."

* * *

Ryoma knew that Ryoga and Oishi were worried about him. Food was essential; you had to eat to sustain energy, to keep a good frame of mind. He tried to see through their point of view. But he wanted this with every part of him. And he couldn't say it aloud. How did you tell someone that the thing you hoped for, the only thing that kept you going, was trying to reduce everything into bones so at least you could get one thing right?

* * *

"Step on the scale." Ryoma frowned at the nurse with her painfully yellow attire and God-how-much-sugar-did-you-have-this-morning attitude. He had a third degree burn from being stupid. He wasn't here for a physical.

"I don't-"

"Step on the scale."

He did as she said.

He'd been weighed before. He gotten into the habit as a form of self torture when he was fourteen. That was when it'd gotten so bad he could recite the calories of basic house hold foods like he'd manufactured it. But he'd stopped because he learned to stay the same weight over time. His father had been right about one thing, practice did make perfect. The nurse moved the nail unto the black block and pursed her lips. He turned his head away and hoped she didn't say anything.

"100."

Ryoma wished he could pretend not to hear.

* * *

100

Fifty plus fifty. Twenty five times four.

He tried to find the loose ends, the straws. If he lost this much weight then he would be okay. But he was panicking. What had he done wrong? What had he been eating? He ran his fingers down his arms trying to find the excess. The fat.

"Ryoma?"

He pressed his thighs but he didn't know how to get it out. He wanted to get out. He scratched and clawed and tried to find the place where he ended and this began. Just get it out. He exhaled but his breathing sounded ragged and he was drowning into something. _Just get it out. _

"Ryoga, he's having a panic attack." There were knives cutting into him, searing him open. He could feel the ghost of breath across neck and he heard the beats of it but he didn't know if he wanted to try anymore. What was the point?

"Ryoma? It's all right. It'll be fine. Just breathe. Listen to me breathe. Ryoma, open your eyes." He concentrated on Oishi's voice and gasped but he needed to someone to sew him closed. He was leaking out like a faucet, dripping blood and guts. Finally, he pried his eyes open and found his brother's frame next to him, holding on like he needed his strength more then Ryoma did. They were on the bathroom floor. He concentrated, listening to the patterns like he listened to Tezuka's playing. Deep, shallow, deep, deep, shallow.

Some deep part of him wanted to cry until it was hollow but he hadn't cried since he was a kid. He focused, again, on his breathing then glanced up at Oishi. His hands were in Ryoma's hair, brushing it back in a gesture that was almost too motherly. But he relaxed into it.

"I'm so tired." He admitted. Didn't even mean to.

His brother thumped his hand something playful and brotherly and _relieved_ in his face. "I know." And despite the fact that the tiles in bathroom were deathly cold and it was cramped they sit there in silence for what felt like hours, just breathing together.

* * *

Yeah. And then that happened.


	7. Grapes

Hello, everyone. Three more chapters. Well, two chapters, one bonus chapter and then the epilogue. So, yeah, there's more but not much.

I wanted to do something in honor of the end coming, well, besides officially declaring this a OT6 story. I already knew but you guys didn't. ;)

Anyways, I wanted to give you some insight into certain part of this story so I thought I'd explain the whole Oishi/ Ryoga thing.

I originally paired Ryoga with Inui. I know. But I wrote some of that and it didn't _not_ work. I just really, really wanted Oishi in my story but it didn't feel right to put him in a band. So I let him get married to Sakuno (Which is actually funny because he's so gay, man), then end up Shizuka and it just worked. And I love them.

Other random info: Ryoma's dad favored guys too but he loved Rinko. His father also went Pro then ruined his knee a year into it.

Sakuno became a famous actor in America.

Ryoma's a grey asexual. Like me. So that means on some level he did love Kevin.

Marui and Yukimura dated. For like five seconds. Honestly, their both manwhores. Except Yukimura heart really belongs to five guys and he knows it.

Warnings: Anorexia. Bulimia. Language because Ryoma's temper. Marui's shameless flirting? Ryoga's awesomeness? OOCness because Atobe doesn't always have to be such an asshole, Ryoma is a human being and Yanagi does have a sense of humor. And it's an AU.

Note: Noa's brother killed himself which motivated her in become a therapist. That was five years to the date of his death which is why she was so sad.

And Tezuka and Eiji obviously will be in the next chapter. They needed a break.

* * *

"There is no magic cure, no making it all go away forever. There are only small steps upward; an easier day, an unexpected laugh, a mirror that doesn't matter anymore." Laurie Halse Anderson

* * *

_Month 3_

Tick.

Tock.

Ryoma watched the clock. The woman in front of him was scribbling something in her notebook, the action baring an uncanny resemblance to Seigaku's manager. Noa, she'd said her name was. She seemed kind and sociable though he wasn't necessarily glad to be there. He watched her hand move across a page. What was she writing about?

Finally, she looked up. Her eyes were a luminescent green and they lightened when she smiled at him. "There's only a few more minutes left. You'll be out of here in no time."

He squirmed in his chair a little ways from her. He felt guilty. Maybe he didn't want to talk to her about his problems but that didn't mean he still didn't feel like he was wasting her time. "I'm sorry."

Noa waved it off. "Oh, your fine. Most people don't say anything at all their first visit."

"If you don't mind me asking," The politeness wasn't going down the right way but he pushed through. "What are you writing?"

"I'm not. Here. Take a look."

She flipped her notebook- sketchbook, he corrected- up for him to see. It was a drawing of him. It was coarse and the outline was being re-done but he could see the curving of cheekbones and the fullness of his lips. It was beautifully done, really. Ryoma cleared his throat.

"Can I- I mean, may I have that?"

She wagged a finger at him, putting the sketch back down. "Uh-uh. I'm not finished with it yet."

Tick.

Tock.

"You can go." She chirped and he bolted out of his chair without preamble.

* * *

"So how was it?"

He ignored his brother because he was still upset that he had to go to a therapist in the first place. He'd been given two options; talk to someone or talk to Ryoga and Oishi. Both of them were barely choices but the thought of talking to people he actually knew about his feelings was awful.

"So the silent treatment? That's very mature."

Ryoma glared at him. Was he serious? Ryoga still watched cartoons and he was the immature one? Yeah, okay. He slanted his eyes to the front and kept them there.

"We're going to Rikkaidai's practice."

Ryoga went on, "I'm sure you'll like them. They're the same age as Seigaku. I don't think Sanada will be there until later. He's the extra guy. Picks up if anyone can't be there. Well, besides Marui. Hey, Ryoma?"

"What?" He snapped. His brother could talk. A lot. Even when he was driving.

"Are you gay?"

"Excuse me?"

Ryoga tweaked the sound of radio until it couldn't be heard over the thrum of the engine. "I mean, you weren't really upset about Fuji kissing you and I've never heard you talk about a girl."

Normally that would have immediately made it worse, but his brother going from talking about Rikkaidai to speculating about his sexuality when he had a boyfriend was just so _insane_. He laughed. Clutching the side of the car with one hand he shook with quiet laughter and Ryoga joined in. It took him awhile but he finally calmed down.

"I've never thought about a girl before." He decided to answer. It was true. Girls were there but they didn't live in his world. Honestly, they were too soft. Fragile. He preferred bodies that didn't have a chance of blowing away if there was a storm.

Ryoga threw a fist in the air. "Yes! Oishi owes me so much money."

* * *

"Aw. He's so cute."

Ryoma frowned from his place beside his brother. They were sitting in the front row of the stadium where Rikkaidai was going to be performing that night. The space was huge and the concert was sold out. He wondered how they had gotten so popular while Seigaku had not. Probably because they actually did things.

The singer of Rikkaidai crouched in front of him. His jeans were almost illegally tight and his shirt looked three sizes too small. But he was attractive, Ryoma supposed, with the red hair and shifting grey-brown eyes. He crossed his arms.

"I'm not a kitten."

Marui smiled lecherously, reaching to lay a hand on his arm. The bald man behind him shook his head and shot Ryoma an apologetic look. "Well, I bet I could make you purr."

Yanagi grimaced from his piano. "I think you need to work on your lines, Bunta."

"Really? I thought it was clever."

"Done flirting with my brother, kid?" Ryoga questioned seemingly far too amused at Ryoma's harassment. It must have been a frequent occurrence.

"Maybe." He stated but turned his attention back to his band members. A few seconds later a guy with chaotic black hair ran through, skidding to a halt when he saw them. Quickly, he put his hands in his pockets, his gaze flickering to the left curtains leading backstage.

"Um, so you guys know how I have Baka this weekend?"

Jackal nodded at him.

"I think I may have lost him."

Marui snorted, unwrapping a piece of gum and throwing in his mouth. Weren't you supposed to refrain from chewing gum while singing? It seemed kind of dangerous. Ryoga nudged his arm softly as if he knew what he was thinking.

"I'm sorry, Kirihara. Are you seriously telling me that you lost your girlfriend's dog?"

Kirihara bit his lip and rocked on his heels. "Er. Yes."

"Go find him." Marui ordered and the drummer took off running. Yanagi started snickering suddenly, hitting a cluster of terrible notes. It was an interesting picture with the pianist's closed eyes and tidy bowl cut.

"I still can't believe they named their dog Baka."

"Kirihara's girlfriend must have named the dog after him."

Everyone laughed as the band traded insults. He didn't think he'd ever seen his brother so relaxed before. Excluding when he was with Oishi. He wasn't just the band's manager, he realized, he was their friend too. Same with Seigaku. Something brown moving from the corner caught his eye. He smirked.

"Hey." Everyone looked at him. He pointed. "Is that a dog?"

* * *

Ryoma drew. He dug out a pad of unlined paper and just drew. Nothing that made sense, nothing that was real. But he liked the feeling of a long pencil in between his fingers. The hasty, soft strokes he made against the white canvas. He itched to add another part to it but he didn't want to ruin it.

He sat on his bed and immersed himself into what he was doing for hours. When it was finished he found a tack and pinned it to the wall. Nowhere close to the photographs. He didn't want to ruin the ambience surrounding those.

"That's beautiful."

He turned. Oishi was standing next to him looking at the sketch with an awed expression. He didn't know why. It wasn't even that good. Mediocre, at best. The placing wasn't right on the page. Aligned too far to the right when it would have been better in the middle. Ryoma pursed his lips.

"I don't know what it is."

"Your welcome," Oishi teased and he realized he'd forgotten to think him for the compliment. He hated good etiquette. It was just a subtle way of being an asshole. " It looks like a girl in a forest."

He didn't know. If he tilted his head to the side it did look like a forest but if he looked at it straight on it just appeared to be a fucking jungle of nothingness. God, he was awful at this. Why had he even wanted to try?

"Ryoma."

"I think I'm going to take it down." He said, reaching for the tack, but a soft hand swatted him away. Oishi shook his head.

"Leave it. It's good."

He sighed irritably. He didn't need pretty, little lies just because he'd broken down a few weeks ago. He was _fine._ "It doesn't matter. "

Oishi repeated steadily, "It's good."

"Whatever." He wasn't going to argue about this. "Where's Shizuka?"

"In the kitchen with Ryoga." Oishi replied absentmindedly then, "It'd be better with color."

"What?"

"Your drawing. It would be better with color."

He looked back at it and realized Oishi was right. Ryoma walked out of his room in search of color.

* * *

The second session Ryoma was fidgety. He and Ryoga had gotten into a disagreement about eating and even though there was no yelling, his calm lecture on it being okay for him to eat was worse. He was blank and he didn't know how to get to a point where he could allow himself to be marked. Hate and sternness was cutting, but friendship and having people care about you was terrifying. It insured a change he couldn't stop.

Noa wasn't smiling. She looked pensive and her clothes were dark. And, then, in the stillness of her office she asked, "What's your favorite color?"

"I don't know." It should have been an easy question for him to answer but he'd never thought about it. Never had to. Nobody had ever cared enough to ask.

Noa kept talking. "I like green. Everyone always thought that was because of my eyes, but they didn't understand, didn't get that I only liked the shade of green my brother's eyes were."

"Were?"

"He died. A long time ago." Her eyes wandered to a frame on her desk. Ryoma put a finger on his wrist, finding the steady thumping there. _You're here, you still exist. _But sometimes he forgot. Sometime he didn't feel like he was, that he did.

"Do you ever get so sad that it's like you've got an entire ocean inside of you but you don't know how to let it out?"

Noa softened."Yes. But I let the water go and the ocean gets smaller and smaller."

He closed his eyes. He could feel the sting of tears and it hurt but he could _feel it_ and maybe that's what mattered the most. He exhaled and met her gaze forcefully despite the fact that there were tears making a pathway on his skin. "Does it ever go away?"

"No." Honesty rang through the air and he appreciated it. "But, in the end, it's just a puddle. And you can walk through those."

He swallowed. Could taste the tears on his tongue and they were like memories and salt. Bitterness. But Ryoma breathed it out. Started letting it go.

* * *

He didn't know how he ended up at Atobe and Yukimura's apartment for a sleep over but he did and he was too tired to put up a fight about it. Ryoga had told him it'd be good for him to hang out with friends. Because, apparently, he had friends now.

It was a hilarious notion.

The apartment was small but comfortable. There wasn't much in the living room but Ryoma could tell what touches Atobe had added and what Yukimura had refused to let him change. He scrunched his nose when he stepped into the doorway, prompting the body following him to bump into his back with a sharp intake of breath.

Yukimura leaned down, practically kissing his cheek. "What?"

He moved away from the contact. Not that it'd been bothering him that much. It was just…Different. "Why does it smell like someone burned a dead body in here?"

A ladle was dangled over the corner leading into what had to be the kitchen. "Ore-sama heard that."

"Ryoma doesn't care." He mocked. There was a light chuckle but he ignored it, walking into the kitchen with his duffle bag over his shoulder. Atobe was stirring something in a pot, his hair falling over his face. He looked horribly domestic which probably had a lot to do with the fact that the kitchen was yellow. A light hue that took him back to the days where he'd used highlighters on a daily basis.

Atobe barely spared him a glance. Too busy killing everyone in the immediate area's senses. "Hello, brat."

He made a noncommittal noise, laying his stuff on the wall. Yukimura sat on one of the stools around the table. It made a noisy creak as if complaining of the pressure.

"Keigo," Yukimura coughed. "What are you making?"

"Miso soup. Here, try it."

The guitarist shook his head quickly. Ryoma leaned on the counter, already anticipating the pleasure he would obtain from seeing someone suffer. "I'm fine. I'll wait until it's ready."

Atobe raised a delicate eyebrow. He fished out a spoon from a drawer, dipped it into the pot and held it in the air expectantly.

"I think," He grimaced when Yukimura shot him a wicked grin. This was not going to happen, _shit_. "Ryoma would like to try it."

The violinist inched closer to him. A hand cradled beneath the silverware because God forbid any of the forsaken soup spilt unto the floor. He announced, when Atobe almost shoved it into his mouth, "I'd rather have an orgy."

"Actually, that could be arranged."

Ryoma rolled his eyes. Atobe ignored them. "What's wrong with Ore-sama's cooking?"

"It smells like you peed into it."

Yukimura laughed. The sound was almost melodic. He twisted away, blaming the flush of his face on the stem flowing from the still boiling pot. Atobe sniffed the spoon then sipped at it. The violinist's face twisted in disgust.

"Okay," He drawled. "That tastes like shit."

* * *

They ended up making sandwiches. Atobe complained that it wasn't his fault that the recipe had turned out to be botched up. Ryoma told him that it _was_ his fault that it'd sucked. Yukimura just shook his head at them like they were two year olds he couldn't be bothered with.

He ate half of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He could feel the temptation of vomiting it back up but stopped himself. It wasn't the time or place. They sat around the table in silence. Ryoma found himself enjoying their company. They were more talkative then Tezuka or Kikumaru but fine with quiet.

There were two bedrooms, one of them was clean and tidy like no one ever went in there. Yukimura said that Fuji sometimes stayed overnight so he slept there. Ryoma didn't think that was entirely true though he left alone.

As usual, he couldn't sleep so he let his mind wander into random concaves. For a second he wondered what Kevin was doing. He didn't think about his ex-boyfriend often but that didn't mean he didn't care how he was. There was a small click and he made out the form of Atobe in the darkness.

"Can't sleep?"

He shrugged.

"Move." The violinist ordered, getting under the covers. He complied. The warmth of the man's body was appreciated so he didn't complain. He put a hand under his head to make himself comfortable. He could hear every breath Atobe took.

"Are you parents still alive?" He inquired, more for something to do then anything.

"Yes," A sigh. "They disowned me a year ago."

"Why?"

Atobe tilted his head on the pillow. His eyes were dark with acidity. "I didn't want to be in the family business. That was bad enough, but then I started dating Fuji and, well, that was too shameful."

The absence of his notable "Ore-sama" did not go unnoticed.

Ryoma pointed out, because it was something, "You have friends."

"So do you."

Which was different. "Sure."

"The band likes you." Atobe said and he couldn't help the tiny rush of warmth that flooded through him at the sentiment.

He cleared his throat. There was something clogged up in there and he needed to get it out. "Even Ore-sama?"

Atobe's leg pressed against his soothingly. There was something pleasantly undemanding about him. He put aside all the bullshit that made everyone else fake. "Yes, even me."

And for the first time in a long time, he slept easy.

* * *

"I wondered where my cuddle buddy had gone."

"Please don't ever use the words cuddle and buddy in terms of Ore-sama again."

Ryoma hated them. He wanted to stab them with a fucking spatula until they bleed to death and stopped talking so he could sleep.

"Is he up?"

"I don't know." Yukimura sounded way too happy. "Let's dip his hand in water."

He groaned, shoving his head under his pillow. There was loud trill in the house and he recognized it as the sound of a phone ringing. He felt a rush of cold air on his back. Ryoma stated, muffled, "I will eat your children if you don't give me the covers back."

He could just imagine Atobe's superior smirk. "Ore-sama's sorry. He doesn't speak pillow."

"Well, you've gotten asshole down."

"The phone's ringing." Yukimura inserted and there was a sudden dip in bed that told him that he'd just sat down.

"Brat, go get the phone."

Why did he have to get the phone? They'd woken him up for nothing. He groaned again because it was cold and there was no way he could go back to sleep now. He swung out of the bed, only half caring that he only had his boxers on. And where was the stupid phone anyway? He followed the annoying chime. Right beside the sofa in the living room was a white telephone that he grabbed swiftly, hissing like a snake, "Someone better be fucking dying right now."

Ryoga's voice was quiet. "Ryoma, could you let me talk to one of the guys?"

He tensed at the disconcerting hush of his brother's tone but called the two idiots to the phone. Yukimura wrapped his arms around his waist while Atobe talked inaudibly to his brother. He struggled but then stopped when Atobe paled. His nails tap danced on the table after he'd hung up.

"What happened?" Yukimura questioned, still holding on to Ryoma.

Atobe raked a hand through his hair and he noticed that the man's hands were shaking a little. "Fuji's in the hospital. He tried to kill himself."

* * *

At the part when was drawing, the lines, "But he liked the feeling of a long pencil in between his fingers. The hasty, soft strokes he made against the white canvas." made me laugh because all I could think was, "Oh, yeah, Ryoma I'm sure you do like the feeling of a _long_ _pencil_ and the _strokes_. "

I'm so sorry. xD


	8. Hamburger

I have some news that I hope you guys will take as great. I'm writing another story after this one. I think next chapter I'll be able to allow details on it. Some disclosure: Ryoma is a fucking bad ass. In college. With a sex addiction. Working/going to school with five other people who've had their own share of insanity.

So I think I'll start freaking out now because I have something to admit.

I WROTE A SEX SCENE IN THIS STORY IT'S DOWN BELOW BEWARE I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S HAPPENING I'M SO SORR-

Okay.

I've obviously written sex scenes before but I tend to write rape/ awkward fuck-buddy sex better. And blowjobs and hand jobs. I've never written like a (God this going to sound cheesy) love_ love_ scene and that's pretty much what happened below. And it's tasteful. I don't use the word cock once. I'm still crying, honestly.

More importantly, I wrote it because I had already planned beforehand to write a scene where Eiji seeks out someone to let him top because Fuji never let him take control. It was a big thing seeing as he was raped and he doesn't really trust anyone to touch him intimately. If you felt it was rushed or out of the blue, sorry. Not really.

Oh, and guess what? Kevin's going to be around next chapter (The_ last _official chapter until the epilogue and the bonus). And he's going to be paired with someone. I write the most unexpected pairings.

Warnings: Anorexia. Bulimia. Perfectionism. Sex but yeah no. Language. A rage attack. OOCness but okay, you'll live.

Note: This chapter went into the topic of perfectionism. As person who has a shitty case of said thing, it sucks. But I've learned to deal with it in some way. I believe that perfection is a state of mind, a way of thinking. What Tezuka said was something I'd never thought about but I agree. It'll definitely help in Ryoma's process of recovery.

Note 2: If you wanted a hospital scene, too bad. Ryoma left after Atobe stopped yelling. I love that Atobe yelled. Oh and Eiji told Ryoma to start calling him by his name just in case you were wondering.

* * *

"I think perfectionism is based on the obsessive belief that if you run carefully enough, hitting each stepping-stone just right, you won't have to die. The truth is that you will die anyway and that a lot of people who aren't even looking at their feet are going to do a whole lot better than you, and have a lot more fun while they're doing it." -Anne Lamott

* * *

_Month 4_

"You seem angry." Noa stated after ten minutes of him glaring at the clock.

Oh. Did he? He felt angry. Ryoma had problems controlling his temper in general. There was a monster inside of him that woke up whenever someone tried to change things that shouldn't be changed. And something had changed.

He frowned and blurted, "My friend tried to kill himself recently."

The therapist blinked. "And how do you feel about that?"

It wasn't an easy decision to make, suicide. Ryoma knew it and he knew it well. It was something your whole being rebelled against, like drowning. There was a place inside you that wilted because this was unnatural and you were supposed live. It was normal like eating was supposed to be normal. But some people felt bone weary. So tired of seeing light and darkness as contrasting things that they missed the middle ground; the equilibrium.

He understood and maybe it was hypocritical but he was _pissed._ Fuji had six people who cared about him monumentally. Maybe Oishi and Fuji weren't best friends but even his brother's boyfriend had sounded worried when they'd been waiting at the hospital. So, no, Ryoma didn't want to see Fuji after he'd decided to off himself. There was no point.

"Nothing." He turned away. "I feel absolutely nothing."

* * *

Sometimes he and Tezuka went on walks. No destination in mind but a place to begin. They started on the street next to Ryoma's house and just went missing. Discovering with nothing in mind. The weather wasn't stifling even though it was half past summer. They always found themselves at a lake, looking over the water. It was nice. Peaceful.

"Tezuka," He bent down and grabbed a rock from the grass. It made a satisfying _clunk _when it hit the water. "Do you think perfection exists?"

"What do you mean?" The pianist questioned after a moment. His glasses were skewed and Ryoma itched with the urge to fix them.

"I mean, do you think that we all could acquire perfection if we set our minds to it?"

Tezuka stopped him, taking the rock from his grasp and demonstrating the proper way to skim a stone. Ryoma found it a very interesting skill to have in one's repertoire. "It doesn't exist."

"What?"

"Perfection. It's a concept. It doesn't exist."

Three sentences. He thought it might have been a record for Tezuka. Ryoma shook his head. Perfection couldn't just _not_ exist. It was ridiculous. "How do you know?"

"Well, because," Tezuka shifted closer to him. A bird hovered in a patch of flowers nearby. "It's like beauty. It's subjective. What's perfect to you isn't perfect to me."

That didn't make sense. It couldn't make sense. He shouldn't even have asked. They went silent again. It was interesting, really, how many times they moved towards each other. When one of them acted the other reacted. He didn't hate it.

"Ryoma."

"Wha-" He made a soft noise of surprise when Tezuka's lips touched his forehead gently. He closed his eyes. They were practically the same height but he felt so minuscule. A china doll in a world full of giraffes. Ryoma wanted to say something, anything, because he'd just been given something even though he didn't know what, but the pianist was already pulling away, walking back the way they'd came. He followed, watching as the little bird flew away.

* * *

Ryoma ended up with a cup of tea in his hands, telling Noa random bits of his life. Some things where unnecessary, unimportant but some were not. Noa listened. Laughed at the story of him meeting Kevin and didn't push him when he told her about his mother. It was surreal to be talking about things he'd never discussed with anyone. Not a bad sensation. Just strange. But, then-

"What about your dad?"

He fingered the rim of his tea. He hadn't taken a sip of it but the heat felt good against his hands. "I don't know. He was around."

"So you had a good relationship with him?" Noa cocked her head. Her golden hair was ethereal against the light streaming through the blinds.

"He helped me with tennis." Did that constitute as a good relationship?

"Ryoma, that wasn't what I asked."

He didn't know how to answer that. The basis of their relationship had been founded upon perfection as a tangible goal. But Tezuka had told him it was just a notion. An idea people forced upon themselves. He didn't know how he was supposed to just be okay with that. It was all he had. He wasn't just going to give it up.

"Do you believe in perfection?"

"No." Noa answered firmly.

"My dad said that if you're good enough then you're perfect."

Noa stared at him and he stared back. She was looking at him the way his mom had whenever Ryoma had won a game but his father didn't even congratulate him. Sometimes he forgot how young he was. Eighteen. He'd barely seen anything, been anywhere. Noa leaned toward him, stretching a hand to his knee. It wasn't firm or gentle; more a gesture of being there with him then anything.

"Ryoma," She caressed his name. "What is perfection to you?"

Thinness. Strength. Being the best at whatever you did. Self-control. He'd carved those attributes into his skin so they could be branded into his skeleton. But, what did that mean for others? Did the same reign he held on himself apply to the people he wanted to care about? Heaviness. Weakness. Being average. Self-indulgence.

He wasn't sure what he believed in anymore.

* * *

When he got to his room he touched things. The silk of his sheets. The bumpy paths of his walls. The hardness of his dresser. He traced the lines of his sketches and forced smiles frozen in the photos. Wrong. It was all wrong. Ryoma laughed.

God, he hated himself.

There were tacks and pictures and he was throwing them, ripping apart the paper of his creations. The lamp made a heavy thud when he shoved it off the desk and he continued, tumbling the stupid fucking I'll- show-why- you're-imperfect mirror by the side of his bed so hard it hurt his hands. It all twisted together in a symphony of fleeting sounds. Did anything ever last? He sat down on the floor. The glass was pricking his body, sawing through until there was blood dripping down his fingers in a twisted portrait of fury. But there was nothing anymore and he hated everything and he didn't know how to make it stop.

The door opened. He didn't move but he could tell it was Ryoga. His brother had sloppy steps, they always resounded against the floor in an ungraceful beat.

"Oh, Ryoma." He heard his brother say. Ryoma stared at himself through the shards of glass. Picture perfect.

"What do I have, Ryoga?" He rasped. Maybe he was crying. The tides of his ocean were high, he could feel that much. "What do I have left?"

* * *

A few days later he opened the door to find Eiji on his doorstep.

The redhead's eyes were puffy and he was forcing a smile and failing. Ryoma stepped aside in a clear invitation of welcome. They didn't say anything on the way to his room. Ryoga and Oishi had gone out which was a surprise because he almost figured they thought he was suicidal. Which he wasn't. Ryoma was too exhausted to even pick up anything that he could harm himself with.

Eiji took a seat on the bed. The room had been straightened up from his temper tantrum but the pictures and his sketches were piled on his desk.

"What's wrong?" He asked gingerly. It was like looking at a house of cards; you knew eventually they were going to fall but you hoped for a few more minutes.

Eiji was gazing at the photographs. "Fuji took those."

"Really?"

The redhead nodded. "He loved photography. But his father didn't approve. Well, actually, his father didn't care at all."

Ryoma wondered which one was worse.

He tried again. He was still standing by the doorway because even though he wanted to console in some way, he didn't know how, or if it would even be accepted. "What's wrong?"

"People don't touch me often. They know I don't like it. The only person I'm okay with doing so is-" _Fuji__,_ he guessed. Eiji blinked rapidly, focusing on the patterns of his bed intensely. "But he's so manipulative. It's like because his parents didn't make him into anything, he had to make himself the center of our world."

"That's sad." He mumbled. And it was. People were made up of how their parents treated them. It wasn't necessarily that if you had good parents then you grew up to be a good person, or vice versa, it was the fact that those feelings and experiences fashioned how you felt about everything. His upbringing could definitely attest to that.

"I just- I don't understand it. I'd like to be equal with someone for once."

Was that an invitation? Because it'd sounded like one. He searched Eiji's face. He wasn't smiling but there was a challenge there that reminded him almost eerily of Atobe. Did he want this? He thought, staring at the blue of the jacket on the stool and nodded. There were so many feelings and maybe for a little bit that didn't have to be such a bad thing.

"Come here." The redhead murmured the tone of his voice beckoning Ryoma closer. He felt the cold mint of breathing across his cheek and then he was being kissed. Nothing close to the force or passion of Fuji's. It was comfort. A cover to protect you from the cold, lilting lyrics in a song, the familiarity of home. He kissed back.

When they broke away it felt almost natural to rest their foreheads together. He raised an eyebrow at the bed. In answer, Eiji aligned there bodies together, rolling him on top. He leaned down and pressed his mouth to the redhead's throat. He made a road down to his neck, placing tiny nips and bites into the soft skin.

Eiji tasted of grapes. There was the stripping of layers before you could get to the burst of flavor.

"What are you doing?" Because he could feel the pressure of a hand slipping inside his pants. He gasped when the hand squeezed over him, twisting and rubbing the base until he could only account for one part of his body. Something in his stomach was clenching, a hunger he wouldn't mind sating, aching. Stopping the fingers, Ryoma flipped them over so Eiji was on top.

Eiji pulled back with a baffled twist to his neck. "What are _you_ doing?"

He grabbed the fingers that were on him before and kissed them lightly before sucking them into his mouth. He watched the way brown eyes hazed over into autumn amber and continued. With his other hand he unzipped his pants, pushing them down past his ankles. The fingers in his mouth eased out and there was an unidentifiable moan when a string of saliva draped in the air. This was more tranquil the anything he'd ever felt before, even with Kevin.

Ryoma appreciated the fact that the redhead took his time to stretch him. He'd never bottomed before, never wanted to try it. Kevin had complained of the soreness afterwards and he couldn't have had that. He'd had to play tennis. He snorted internally. Not something he had to worry about anymore.

The stretching was uncomfortable but not as uncomfortable as being slipped inside of. There were pecks being scattered on his skin which was reminded him oddly of the way a mother would kiss a child's scrapes.

Eiji licked his lips, shifting at an angle painful enough to provoke a cringe. "Tell me when to move."

Oh, how about never? He gritted his teeth. "Move."

He couldn't stop looking at Eiji. The flush in his face as he panted, pink lips branched apart. Sensation ecstasy when their body's moved softly together. He didn't understand why he was noticing. But Eiji really was beautiful. And having the connection just made that more existent. He didn't know how long they moved in synchronization, but there was spot being brushed faultlessly right inside him and he could hear a litany of words inhaling life into his heart. And Ryoma realized that despite how messy, how un put together the person on top of him was, maybe that was what was perfect about him; the imperfections. And maybe that was what he could believe in.

* * *

"Ryoma, wake up."

"What?"

"Do you hear that?"

He listened. At first, he didn't notice anything but the whirling of the fan, but then he heard a rhythmic creak from down the hall. Muffled yells and _oh fucking shit_-

"Disgusting." He wanted to find a trash can so he could vomit into it. Eiji huddled closer to him. The shadows lit by the illumination of his window made his already pale skin glow.

"That's my ex-boyfriend." The redhead breathed and then laughed. It was low, husky. It made Ryoma want to roll him back over and have a contest to see who could be the loudest. But Oishi was having sex with Ryoga. He groaned.

"That's my brother."

"Well," Eiji was still snickering. "At least they didn't ask us to join them."

And for some reason, he laughed too.

* * *

There's so much Fuji and OT6 and Kevin and Rikkaidai next chapter. My heart sings.

-Dedicated to AtobeLover for being the best. Miss you.


	9. Ice

Hey, lovelies. If your not doing well, then I wish the best for you. This is the last, and longest chapter.

Thanks to: miuruzeny, narusai12, herbblood, g e j, estepha98, aku no tensei, dimestoreddramatic, ventus286, TheWhatNinja, TheSnarkyAuthor (Get back on, co-parent), Risei, Pri-chan1410, PensieveProsperity, Mrotalkuman, mirsama, gumifan, Millenium Snow ( You know that's not how you spell that right? xD), Lysandera, lazycat5, Isabella1948, Eclaired, FranscoiseLaraLapis, DanniWolf27 (Meow you), Ayingott, An Insignificant Life, Aspen Raven-Grey, Bloody Waterfalls, BlinksSaysRawr (So you love me?), Anotherwriterintheworld (I want to love on you name) and the people who favorite and reviewed. You all are great readers and people, of that, I'm sure.

Dedicated to: Meadow Woods, Ciel D and AtobeLover for being there and not being square. You guys are kind of my best friends here. I find it hard to believe that anyone could cry or be inspired by anything I write but I appreciate you.

Special mentions: SilenceIsKey- I literally stalk the things you read so hard, man. Like you have the best taste in fics. I read that Marcus/ Harry fic and squealed. And that Draco as Harry's bodyguard one made my heart hurt. Just-ugh. Go away.

Really Good Fanfic: Thank you. It's an honor. Really.

And, yeah, I fucking hand wrote all those names so be awed by my prowess.

The epilogue and bonus chapter aren't coming until, to put in simple terms, in, like, ever. xD Sorry. Too busy writing up a storm for all the corners of this fandom. Look out for me.

Warnings: Anorexia. Bulimia. Language. Cheesy pick-up lines? The absence of Shizuka (I am so sorry). The tying of shoelaces. Cough. Cough.

Note: Nothing's easy, as Ryoma says. I wasn't going to insult everyone with a fluffy cotton filled ending. They have issues and they're going to have to deal with them. But they'll get through. I'll make sure of it.

Note 2: The lyrics are Sweater Weather by The Neighbourhood.

* * *

"I am spinning the silk threads of my story, weaving the fabric of my world...I spun out of control. Eating was hard. Breathing was hard. Living was hardest.

I wanted to swallow the bitter seeds of forgetfulness...Somehow, I dragged myself out of the dark and asked for help.

I spin and weave and knit my words and visions until a life starts to take shape.

I am thawing." - Laurie Halse Anderson

* * *

_All I am is a man_  
_I want the world in my hands_

The next morning Ryoma walked into the kitchen to see his brother and Oishi eating breakfast at the table. Eiji was right behind him, trailing a finger down his side before smiling slightly at the couple.

"Morning."

Oishi jumped; surprised at their sudden appearance, but the already blinding radiance surrounding him grew brighter. "Eiji! It's good to see you. What are you doing here?"

_Well, I stayed over because I was thoroughly worn-out from having sex with your boyfriend's brother. _He could see the entire story wrinkle itself into Eiji's forehead but he didn't say it. Thankfully.

"We were up late talking and I fell asleep. I hope that was okay that I stayed over."

Oishi smiled, rubbing Ryoga's hand with his own. "Of course it was. You're always welcome here."

Eiji's lips flattened but he relaxed. "Thank you."

"Ryoma," His brother eyed the table and he realized that there was a plate supplied with eggs and toast in his normal spot. He opened his mouth to make up some excuse but Ryoga pointed to the food sternly. "Your eating."

Sometimes he really did hate their caring.

* * *

He gargled some water into his mouth before kneeling in front of the toilet, easing his finger down his throat. But it felt stifling and he paused before he hit his gag reflex. Did he really need to do this? He'd been following his schedule almost flawlessly despite the constant hovels of food being thrown his way. Though he'd eaten all those eggs. The door clicked open and he stood up quickly. Eiji's face was as flat as a canvas.

"Every heard of knocking?" He moved to the sink.

The redhead closed the door and leaned against it, watching him as he started brushing his teeth. It was silent until their eyes meet in the glass and Ryoma could see the fear there. It twisted down his throat harder then any finger ever could.

"You shouldn't do it."

Ryoma didn't even try to pretend. It would be an insult to both of them. He snorted, talking around the toothbrush in his mouth. "Don't worry. I haven't died."

There was that quiet undertone of air. Yet. He hadn't died _yet._

But Eiji wasn't laughing His voice was hard. Scolding. "Everyone dies, Ryoma. People just do it differently. You kill yourself on the inside hoping you'll die on the outside."

He swallowed. He could taste the overpowering peppermint flavor and he spit it out. Straightened up. The person in the mirror didn't look away. What was he doing? He was as bad as Fuji. There were people worrying over him and he was just- just acting like it didn't mean something.

"Okay," He wanted so badly for it not to be a lie. "I won't do it."

* * *

_Use the sleeves of my_  
_sweater_

_Let's have an adventure_

_Head in the clouds but my gravity's centered_  
_Touch my neck and I'll touch yours_

He was on the floor of the studio looking into the lights. Eiji's hand was brushing against his and he could see it- the way he wanted it to be. Almost there.

"What are you two idiots doing?"

"Leave them alone, Keigo."

There was a sigh. He heard footsteps padding closer to the area he was in but he didn't glance up. A body stretched down beside him. He could smell the honey. Yukimura. The guitarist was so close it was tantalizing. The sound of the piano stopped, he could hear Atobe arguing and, again, footsteps.

He didn't take his eyes off the bulb though he knew they were all lying down. Finally, Atobe (He couldn't believe the man was actually lying on the floor) said, "Ore-sama doesn't understand this."

It was nothing. Clearing your mind of clutter until there wasn't anything but a sheet of white. It hurt after staring for so long, but it was the good kind of pain. He welcomed it.

Eiji responded. "Just watch."

"Yes, but what is Ore-sama _looking_ for?" Atobe sounded frustrated.

"Well, maybe, it's whatever you find."

Ryoma's eyes fluttered and he turned, so surprised at what the guitarist had said that he lost his concentration. Blue eyes were watching him too and there it was- he'd found it. He looked around. Everything was sharper, more vivid. Lighter. Then there was a kick to his leg, and Eiji was smiling at him. Why had he never noticed how bright they all shone?

"Tezuka."

The blonde made an affirmative noise. Ryoma could imagine the grumpiness of his expression to a T.

"You're lying on Ore-sama's hand."

Light shifting. A keen of pain. "Seiichi, you did that on purpose."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Tezuka, tell Yukimura to-"

"I believe you're quite capable of doing that yourself."

Eiji was laughing softly. Ryoma closed his eyes. There was a hand in his and a childish bicker in the midst, but he knew, that even in the darkness behind his eyelids, he'd never get rid of the light.

* * *

_'Cause it's too cold  
For you here and now_

_So let me hold_

_Both your hands in the holes of my sweater_

Ryoma walked into the living room and paused. Fuji was sitting on the floor, legs crossed. His hair was shaggier then the last time he'd seen him but it didn't deter from his appearance. How long had it been since he'd seen him? Two months? Three?

He bit his lip, sitting an inch away. Fuji turned to him. "I ran away from the hospital."

Ryoga had told him that. Everyone had been thoughtfully unsurprised about it. Even he couldn't muster up a feeling of shock. The singer gave the impression of being a free bird and hospitals were cages. "Why?"

"They wanted to get me help."

"You tried to kill yourself. Maybe you need it."

Fuji shook his head. "A lot of people kill themselves. I just got caught."

He didn't say anything. It was poorly lit in the room but he could still make out the scars on the creamy flesh of the man's arms. Zigzags and criss-crosses. He'd drafted himself out but forgotten to color in the lines.

The singer noticed where his gaze had strayed. "Ugly, aren't they?"

Yes. But they were beautiful, in a way. If you thought about it, scars were how a person considered themselves, sometimes how people saw them. He shrugged and reached forward lightly, dancing his fingers around the shapes.

Then he looked up into narrow blue eyes. They were glinting with _something _but he didn't flinch back. Just kept the hand there.

"I thought you hated me." Fuji stated, leaning his head back unto the couch.

Hatred was born out of fear and his biggest fear was the unexpected, unfamiliarity. Going into a situation or an emotion he hadn't tasted before. He didn't hate. He feared, because he'd never known. Ryoma twisted his hand into the carpet. "Do you know what my father told me before he died?"

Fuji stilled.

"He said, 'Ryoma, you can always do better.'"

He remembered the way that had felt. The sting of it. Like an electrical current shocking his fingers. He'd wanted to throw his racquet on the floor, stomp his feet, yell. He'd wanted to cry. But he'd stood there and took it. Let everything pass him by until he couldn't remember how to get back into the crowd. He knew now, his father was gone. Not simple or easy but true.

"Family. Can't live with them." Fuji laughed, he looked amused and devastatingly sad; two emotions Ryoma had never thought he'd see mixed together. "Well, mostly, because they're gone."

And then the singer was resting his hands into his hands, shoulders shaking, whispering desperately to whoever could hear him that he was sorry. Ryoma inched over and held him because he was sorry too. He was sorry that his mother had never seen him grow up or that his father had never known the kindness of Ryoga or the gentleness of Oishi, never seen Shizuka's eyes. He was sorry that he hadn't told Kevin that he meant something. That Eiji couldn't touch without fear or that Atobe was disowned because he wanted to be happy. But the thing that he was most regretful about was that he couldn't remember the taste of freedom, or hope or love, even though it had always been right in front of him. So he breathed in Fuji's scent and apologized with him and to him as well.

They ended up in his room, tangled in the sheets of his bed. Ryoma was tired but he didn't want to leave Fuji by himself. The singer rolled over to face him, sandy brown hair splaying over the pillow. He looked like an angel. Well, an angel with puffy eyes and bed head.

"What do you think love feels like?"

"I don't know." Ryoma blinked because the words were so similar to the same one's Kevin had spoken to him years before and the answer he'd given. He was still painfully uncertain of the whole concept but he needed, he wanted, to try. There was nothing perfect about it. "We could find out."

* * *

_Month 5_

"This meeting has been called to talk about feelings." Fuji announced from the middle of the circle.

Atobe made a face. His hair was more ruffled then Ryoma had ever seen which might have been because of the wind. They were on the sidewalk across from his house. He thought it had to be the worst place for the topic of discussion but Fuji had insisted upon it. "This already sounds horrible."

"Why are we outside?" Eiji asked, bouncing on his feet. His arm was looped with Tezuka's and he couldn't help but be proud of the drummer for it.

"Because Oishi would have a heart attack at this conversation. Anyway-"

"Oh, look there's a spider."

"Interrupt again and I swear to God I'll stab you." Fuji narrowed his eyes. Atobe just crossed his arms, in a gesture more childish then anything. It was obvious that the violinist was still mad at Fuji. The yelling at the hospital hadn't even been a little bit of a joke.

Yukimura waved his hands. "Okay, fighting pair, break it up. Syusuke, you may continue."

The dubbed fighting pair glared at each for a few more moments then Fuji was smiling. Ryoma thought it was more then a little creepy that he could go from violently murderous to easy-going in about four seconds.

"As I was saying before I was _most rudely_ interrupted," Atobe rolled his eyes. "Can it be safely assumed that we all have romantic feelings for everyone present?"

Everyone nodded. Even Tezuka. Fuji's smile grew. "Good. We're in a relationship. You're dismissed."

Finally. It was weirdly chilly outside despite the fact that it was summer. Ryoma moved to cross the street but when he heard a, "Wait." He spun back around.

Atobe pointed to the ground, raking his fingers through his hair dramatically. "Is that spider included?"

And that was the start to their beautiful relationship.

* * *

_And if I may just take your_  
_breath away_  
_ I don't mind if there's not much to say_

He tilted his head at the painting. It was missing something. It was another abstract, but this time there were colors. He wasn't sure what it was, though. There were two rectangles spaced evenly with a circle in between. Gold and red with mixes of grey mashed against certain spots despite him telling Eiji not to. There was a soft hand on his shoulder and he relaxed into the touch.

"What are you doing up?" He murmured, hesitantly wrapping his hands around Fuji's waist. He was still unfamiliar with touching so he took it in doses. The man's hands were in his hair, smoothly brushing through the strands. He didn't understand the obsession with his hair, and there definitely was an obsession, he couldn't go five seconds in the same room with his boyfriend's without someone touching it.

"I was just about to ask you the same thing. Atobe's restless."

"Isn't he always?" Ryoma rolled his eyes then gestured to the painting propped up on the wall. "I just feel like something's missing."

Fuji hummed. "It's beautiful. Simple, but beautiful."

He waved away the compliment but couldn't help feeling unexpectedly flattered. Ryoma knew the singer didn't give out hollow praise. He looked over, raising an eyebrow at the sight of his boyfriend in his shirt. He'd forgotten to put it back on before getting out of bed.

"You're tired."

"Practicing for the tour." Fuji pointed out. Ah. The tour. When he'd heard that Seigaku and Rikkaidai were going on tour together he hadn't known whether to laugh or pray that everyone made it out alive. Fuji really hated Marui. Which may or may not have been because Rikkaidai's lead singer and Yukimura had dated.

"Let's go to bed." Ryoma released his grip on the singer's waist. Maybe he'd find what was missing in his sleep.

* * *

And it wasn't that eating became easier. It was always going to be hard. Just like living and breathing were always going to be hard. But there was constantly someone there with him, telling him that he was important enough to be full. That he was worth every bite of food or breath he took.

* * *

_The goose bumps start to raise_  
_The minute that my left hand meets your waist_  
_And then I watch your face_  
_Put my finger on your tongue_  
_'Cause you love the taste, yeah_

"Are you seriously tickling me right now? What is this, a first grade sleepover?" He choked out, trying to wiggle away from the fingers dancing around his stomach. Yukimura was on the other end of the coach laughing at his misery. He glared up at the body straddling him.

"We're just playing with you, Ryo." Fuji's hands found his sides and he couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out. There was the feather light tingle of something on his feet. Atobe smirked at him.

He arched his back, turning to appeal to Tezuka who was sitting on the floor reading a book. The blonde didn't even seem to notice the torture happening on right next to him. "Kunimitsu, could you help me?"

Tezuka just turned the page.

"Buchou." Ryoma grumbled, the affect of it slightly ruined by another laugh. Though it got a reaction. Eiji had slipped and called the pianist the title in bed which had ended up with them talking about tennis then, well, not talking at all. He used to his advantage. Plus, his already high respect for the pianist had sky-rocketed when he'd heard about his position on the tennis team.

Tezuka sighed. "Syusuke, please leave Ryoma alone."

"You're no fun. And Atobe's doing it too."

"If Keigo jumped off a bridge would you jump too?" Yukimura reasoned. Atobe looked mildly offended.

Fuji paused. Then, "Atobe wouldn't jump off a bridge."

"Exactly. Ore-sama would never-"

"I'd have to push him."

That was the first time he heard Tezuka laugh.

* * *

He could walk with Tezuka. Watch Yukimura laugh. Argue with Atobe. Talk to Eiji. Listen to Fuji sing. He could do it. And, almost accidently, he found something in all of them that made him want to try.

* * *

_Just us, you find out_  
_Nothing that I wouldn't wanna tell you about, no_

They had a fight a week afterwards. The band was stressed and he'd had a terrible session with Noa about his eating problems. Anorexia, was she said he had. It scared the hell out of him. But everyone had ignored him then yelled at each other for barely a whisper of a thing. Atobe had even threatened to quit.

He'd been expecting. It wasn't like he'd thought everything was going to be sunshine and roses. They were six screwed up (Well, besides Tezuka) men in a relationship with each other. Obviously it wasn't going to be easy.

Ryoma sighed. The apartment was empty without the constant bickering and light touches. He wasn't dependent, he hadn't been with them long enough to be. But maybe he was lonely. It tasted like cinnamon.

He got up when he heard a knock on the door. The person in front of him smiled, eyes crinkling up at the corners in a way that was so familiar. The sky blue eyes, golden blond hair and open expression were still the same. Some things didn't change.

"Kevin?"

* * *

"So," Kevin started, putting a finger in his cup and sticking it in his mouth in an act Ryoma had seen him make a thousand times before. "Where are your boyfriends?"

He paused. "Who told you?"

"Ryoga. I'm staying with him while I'm here."

"How do you know my brother?" He asked, clenching his hands on the table because his friend was staring at him with an unreadable expression. The only reason Ryoga knew about his relationships (?) was because Fuji had let it slip. Oishi had glared at the singer, while patting Ryoma's hand affectionately. Ryoga had been shocked and then congratulated him.

Which wasn't a surprise. His brother was an idiot, but he wasn't a narrow-minded idiot. But what did Kevin think?

The blonde finally took a sip of his tea. "I don't. I met him today. I was looking for you."

"Does it-" He squared his shoulders. "Does it bother you?"

Kevin raised his eyebrows. Then laughed. It sounded more lofty and airy then it'd been before, like it was more forced then genuine. "Ryoma, of course not. I'm jealous. I can't find one guy and you've found five."

His stomach clenched but he had to do it. It was years overdue but, well, better late then never. And there was still that undercurrent of self-hatred in his friend's manner that never went away. He'd forgotten about that. "Kevin, I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"The way I treated you."

There was minute where he saw Kevin's jaw tighten and his fact twist and there was someone he didn't recognize there, a part of his ex-boyfriend that he'd never knew. Maybe that'd been the problem. He hadn't known anyone because he hadn't even known himself.

But, then, his friend was smiling. Like it'd never happened. The weariness of his expression the only lingering tell. "There's nothing to be sorry for. What's done is done. You can't change the past, right?"

"No," Ryoma decided. "But you can change the way it affects you in present."

Kevin put his cup down, fingering the edges of the scarf around his neck. He hadn't bothered to take it off. "Guess your right. But, enough about that. You looked upset when you opened the door. What's up?"

He'd forgotten what it was like to have a friend like Kevin. You could tell him anything and he'd listen without judgment. He wasn't afraid to tell you the truth, especially if you couldn't see it for yourself. So Ryoma told him everything. From coming to Japan to ending up at the apartment alone, excluding his breakdowns and therapy. His friend tilted his head thoughtfully when he got to the issue of them fighting.

"Well, it sounds like you guys don't talk about your feelings. I know that sounds painful, but, maybe everyone needs to have an actual conversation for once."

Fuji had kind of just decided their feelings on the spot.. Ryoma hadn't made a fuss about it because the sidewalk wasn't the most intimate place to talk. But nobody had mentioned a problem with it. Suddenly, Kevin jumped up, the movement stirring the chair from its sleep. "Shit. I need to be somewhere. Look, I'll see you Friday."

He followed his friend to the door. "What's Friday?"

"You'll see."

* * *

_Inside this place is warm _

_Outside it starts to pour_

Ryoma did at least get them to sit down. The band was studiously ignoring each other from their place around the table. It was baffling that they were even involving themselves in this complete and utter bullshit. Eiji sat next to him, nibbling on a piece of bread. The drummer had a fixation with bread.

He stated, with no preamble, "I think all of you are idiots."

Yukimura's gaze sharpened. "Excuse me?"

"You're fighting. Why?"

"You know, I don't believe this is any of your business." Fuji asserted coolly. He had his I'm- so-much-better-then-all-of-you face on. It would've been frightening if Ryoma didn't have one of his own.

"Don't talk down to me. I'm taller then you." He turned to Atobe who was staring at the table. "Anything to say?"

"Ore-sama mentioned the possibility of quitting. In confidence."

Yukimura mocked, "Well, Ore-sama can't just drop that on someone and expect them not to be upset. We've been a band for _years._ We're going on tour soon."

"I'm not leaving you. I just don't know if music is what I want to do anymore." It was soft, almost a caress and everyone tensed at the unexpected sentiment. His eyes found Tezuka's. The pianist's hand was resting on Eiji's under the table. There was such a sudden rush of affection for his reserved boyfriend that made his insides ache. He was the pillar of support when everything was falling apart.

The redhead looked like he was going to cry but spoke in his normal rhythm of wisdom, "We can't keep you if you don't want to be kept."

"Is it something we did?" Fuji crossed his arms which was something he always did if he was trying to keep himself from getting hurt.

Atobe rolled his eyes and muttered, "Plebeians. Complete and utter plebeians. Of course it wasn't anything you did. Ore-sama loves all of you. Even if you are poor. And have horrible fashion sense."

"I don't know whether to feel flattered about the loving us part or insulted that he thinks we have bad fashion sense."

"Just go with it." Ryoma stage whispered to Yukimura. Everyone chuckled and the mood lightened. They still had a long way to go, but they were getting there. "So I had a shitty day."

Fuji leaned forward and everyone was shuffling up, getting food and listening to them. "Tell us about it."

* * *

They walked into the burger place on Friday with a lot of complaining on the band's part. Apparently, Ryoga was issuing another bonding experience so Rikkaidai was going to be dropping by. Fuji hadn't stopped touching Yukimura all day, much to his amusement.

"Ryoma." He looked up at the call of his name, and then saw Kevin sitting by himself at a few booths pushed close together. He walked over and introduced everyone.

"This is your ex-boyfriend? I didn't know you liked blonds."

Really? He gestured slowly to Tezuka whose mouth twitched upwards.

Yukimura sighed. "Right. Sorry."

He shrugged. Then he heard a laugh behind him and turned. Marui slid in next to Kevin, looking just as impeccable (and constricted) as ever. Yanagi and Jackal right behind him. He saw Kirihara across from them at another table talking to the waitress with a pouty expression.

"Hello, Yukimura. You get more attractive every time I see you."

Fuji's eyes flashed open. "Really, Marui, because you seem to get sluttier every time I see you."

"How are we going to deal with them?" Ryoma whispered to Tezuka who was watching the proceedings with faint amusement and disapproval. The pianist deadpanned.

"We could always lock them in a basement somewhere." He nodded, thinking. The waiter whisked over and took their order. He ordered something, glancing at Fuji in hopes he'd know to distract him from what he was eating. The singer nodded, smiling at him warmly. He smiled back.

"I think if we put in enough money we could buy a private island and-"

"What are you two talking about?" Fuji interrupted. He straightened up quickly.

"Nothing."

Marui batted his eyelashes, leering at Kevin. "Oh, your cute."

He almost warned his friend not fall into the cheesy pick-up line trap but Kevin looked the redhead over and smirked. "Thanks. So are you."

"Oh, God, here it comes." Yanagi muttered, flipping through the menu.

"So what time?"

Kevin took a sip of his water casually. "What time what?"

"Do you have to be back in heaven?"

Everyone groaned. Surprisingly, Kevin grinned slyly. "Do I know you?"

"I don't think so." Marui's brow wrinkled and he pouted.

"Really? Because you look like my next boyfriend."

Everyone groaned again. Yanagi and Jackal excused themselves to go see if Kirihara was alright. Ryoma started when he noticed Marui flushing. He really was attractive. But, he already had one adorable redhead. He frowned. Where was Eiji? The booth made a squeak of surprise when a body rose up unto it. The redhead was flushed, lips wet. He looked temptingly debauched.

"Eiji," He said slowly. "What were you doing under the table?"

"Tying Fuji's shoelaces." The drummer announced brightly then tilted his head when Fuji kissed him on the cheek. Atobe was shaking his head, whispering to himself about buying an asylum and keeping them all there. Yukimura snickered. Kevin and Marui were now talking quietly. Marui looked fascinated, seemingly unable to keep his eyes off his blonde friend.

He opened his mouth in horror. "But he isn't wearing sneakers."

"Atobe interrupted me before I could get around to tying them this morning." Fuji smiled innocently. He took a bite of the food he'd just been served absentmindedly. The hamburger actually wasn't that bad. But he couldn't think about the food or he'd psych himself out.

He repeated, "But your not wearing any sneakers."

"Eiji, could you tie my shoelaces?" Yukimura rested his chin on his hands. The redhead nodded and he was disappearing under the table again. Ryoma had to resist the urge to take a peek.

Tezuka leaned over. "How much did you say it would cost to buy that island?"

* * *

He started realizing that it wasn't his fault. He'd done everything wrong because his father had told him it was right. There came a point where you had to stop blaming yourself and realize that some people were just lost. And all you had to do was surround yourself with people who would always find you. Every single time.

_'Cause it's too cold _

_For you here and now_  
_So let me hold_  
_Both your hands in the holes of my sweater_

* * *

_**The End**_

* * *

I hope all of you the best and that you'll continue to put up with me and my ever-growing writing projects.

XOXO

-Gossip Gay

Uh, wait, I mean,

-Sy

;)


	10. Teaser

Here's a teaser for the chapter that might sort of kind of be close to finishing-

But not really.

Enjoy.

* * *

"So why am I sitting at an airport at six o'clock in the morning with you guys again?"

Eiji wiggled in his seat. Despite his cheery manner, the redhead's hair was in a disarray and he kept rubbing his eyes, as if trying to dig out the sleep. "It's so exciting, Ryoma. We're going to America."

"Okay, that," He gestured to Eiji's movements hazily. "Is not allowed right now. Talk to me after one."

Yukimura, whose head was lying on Tezuka's shoulder with his feet resting on Atobe's lap nodded in agreement. "What Ryoma said."

Fuji sighed beside him. He was wearing an oversized sweater that Ryoma knew had to be Tezuka's. What was his deal with wearing other people's clothes? He glanced around the airport. It was fairly vacant which he attributed to the (God-awful) morning light. His gaze fell on Atobe who was texting hard-core on his cell phone. The violinist noticed him looking and Ryoma turned away.

"How much time until our flight?"

"Exactly ten minutes less then what it was five minutes ago when you last asked me." Tezuka answered and rose up a little to fumble through his back pocket. Fuji snorted.

He cocked his head. Then reached into his jacket pocket. The pills rattled inside the bottle annoyingly. "Here. You left them in the bathroom. And don't take anymore for a couple of days. "

Tezuka took them without a word. After a second, Ryoma realized everyone was staring at him.

"What?"

Eiji tapped down his seemingly ever-growing smile. "Nothing."

* * *

Lawl. Ryoma and Fuji get into a cat fight like two days later. I cry.


End file.
